A Fox's View
by caisha702
Summary: *NOW COMPLETE* My name is Lysandra and I have become one of District 5's tributes in the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. This is my story. 'Foxface' POV - first ever fiction of any description, please read and review...
1. Chapter 1

I have never claimed to be a good writer or even an adequate one, but Foxface just won't leave me alone...

I don't own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

Chapter One

When I look out of the window it's cloudy and dark. It looks as if there's a storm coming, but then that is nothing new in District 5. We are known in the Capitol as the district where the weather never changes, and I don't mean in a positive way. However this doesn't matter much to me as I don't really see daylight that much anyway. There is always work to do in the laboratories of District 5, always another experiment to set up or a set of results to record. I laugh at this thought because I sound like an old woman, one who is weary of life. Well I am really, weary that is, not old. I am only sixteen.

The bell rings loudly, distracting me from my thoughts. I head off down the corridor, weaving through the hoards of lab workers. Most of them are my age or younger - we have to go to school in the evening so finish work at six, which is two hours earlier than everyone else. This is how District 5 is operated. District 11 has its orchards and fields, District 12 has its mines and District 5 has its laboratories. The Capitol would have us believe we are at the heart of all important scientific experiments in Panem and that we are vital to the development of the country. Although it's more than my life is worth to voice my thoughts, I believe that I know differently. District 5 is where the Capitol government hides its uglier experiments that are not suitable for the sensitive eyes of its people, because, as we all know, nothing is worse to the citizens of the Capitol than ugliness.

I take my usual place in the corner of the dining hall, a huge square building with very tiny windows that are so high up I can see only a small line of light. I sit alone, which is also usual. I have sat alone every evening since I was brought here from the Community Home two years ago. I suppose it's my own fault really as I have never made much of an effort to make friends.

I was here because I was 'chosen' by the Capitol's representatives in District 5, the garishly coloured and hugely feared overseers of the labs. I still remember the day they arrived. A man and a woman like no others my thirteen year old self had ever seen. She was tall and unnaturally thin, he was her complete opposite, short and fat. I had never seen a fat person before. They introduced themselves as Octavian and Atia as they fiddled with their matching electric-blue hair and adjusted their clothes, preening like the vividly coloured birds that we test new cosmetics on in the labs. We were instructed to complete a set of tests that I found relatively easy. I was shocked when most of the others didn't. They called me gifted and said my intelligence was almost abnormal. Rubbish, I thought. If I was that intelligent I would have realised what was happening and answered the questions wrongly. Then I wouldn't be living this life.

I eat my food quickly. It is nutritious but tasteless, and as normal there is never quite enough of it to stop me feeling hungry. I start to think about going to the schoolroom for yet another compulsory lecture on the history of Panem and the righteousness of the Capitol when the room suddenly goes quiet. The man I hate more than any other in the world walks into the room and heads for the stage at the front of the hall. His name is Lucius Vorenus and he is the governor of Laboratory 7. He is the man that murdered my father. But I could never prove it, and of course even if I could it would make little difference.

I remember my parents, well Father anyway, surprisingly well considering I was six years old when I last saw them. My last memory of my father, whom I idolised in a similar way to the manner in which his murderer idolises the Capitol, is of him standing in the same lab where I work now, arguing with Octavian over an experiment. I have never found out what the argument was about, but I suspect that a number of people who heard and saw too much have been given their lives only in exchange for their silence.

I had been hiding in one of the store cupboards, as my father had sent me to bed only moments before and of course expected that I stay there. I can still see it now, as if it had been filmed and now replays over and over in my head. He left the room only to walk into Lucius and his 'assistants'. Lucius injected my father with a substance from a syringe he took from his pocket and Father fell to the ground instantly. He was dragged down another corridor by two of the assistants and I never saw him again. To my eternal shame I watched this happen from my den in the cupboard without making a sound. Even as a small child I had sensed this was something I shouldn't know about and that to reveal my knowledge would have dire consequences.

Now my mother was a different story. Even now I can't imagine why Father married her. I suppose she must have been different once but I can't see it. It's hard to think well of the woman who abandoned me in the Community Home because she did not want her reputation to be tainted by my father's disgrace as a result of bringing up his child. It didn't seem to occur to her that I was her child too.

All I remember of her besides her great betrayal is a petite woman with vivid red hair and a permanent frown on her face. Father used to tell me that the frown was there because she was concentrating on work. Maybe this was true. She was successful in the end. She invented a potion that could make even the oldest, most wrinkled citizen of the Capitol's skin appear more youthful and now Mercia Whitehouse is one of the best known and most respected scientists outside of the Capitol itself. She married again and even had more children, or so I heard on one of the many compulsory broadcasts I've been forced to watch. But I never saw her again.

I force myself back to the present as Lucius steps onto the platform and looks down on us with his cold, grey eyes.

"There will be no lessons today," he says. "Our esteemed guests from the Capitol have arrived slightly ahead of schedule and will need to be welcomed back in the appropriate way."

Of course. It's the reaping tomorrow. I had almost forgotten. Almost. But I could never forget that the appropriate way meant smiling and laughing while they prepare to send two more innocents to their deaths at the same time as eating more food than I see in a year.

Like every person in Panem, I have watched the Hunger Games and its associated ceremonies for my entire life. The Hunger Games have never been optional. What better way could there be for the Capitol to control the districts than making their children murder each other live on national television and forcing them to watch? It's certainly effective, I'll give them that much.

My name will be written on five slips of paper that go into the girls' reaping ball tomorrow. In that respect I'm lucky. Many of the poorer children have no choice but to take tesserae so that their families don't starve. In exchange for having their name written on another slip of paper they are given a quantity of grain and oil for one person that is supposed to last them for the year. The bigger your family the more times your name goes in the reaping ball. Until the next reaping when they have to go through the whole process again. I have never needed tesserae. I was fed enough to stay alive at the Community Home and, now that I am useful to the Capitol, my food is more than adequate.

I'm starting to get nervous now and I try to push all thoughts of tomorrow from my mind. The rational part of my brain is telling me that worrying about it will not make it go away, will not stop Icarus Holsworthy from drawing my name if that is what's meant to be. Every other part of me is repeating the same words over and over: "Please not me, please not me…"

Once the reaping is over for another year I can convince myself that I wouldn't really care if I was chosen as one of District 5's two tributes. If I were to be selected there would be, realistically, probably a ninety-five percent chance that I wouldn't even survive the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Away from reaping day that seems preferable to the hundred percent chance of dying as a glorified slave to the Capitol in this place at some unknown time in the future. At this moment in time though, my only thought is that I really don't want to die.

I get up from my chair, knowing that I will not be one of the 'lucky' ones who are chosen to wait on 'our esteemed guests'. But as I walk towards the door I remember exactly what I'm walking away from. When any important visitors arrive they are provided with a feast in what we know as the Banquet Hall. I know from past experience that when the food and drink has been laid out on the enormous tables, all of the people who will be waiting on our guests will be called out of the room for a short discussion about the correct way to behave in front of people from the Capitol. In other words they will be told exactly what to say, which I also know from past experience to be not a lot at all, and more importantly what their fate will be if they disgrace the district. During that short period of time there is a completely unoccupied and unguarded room full of food. To me this is an invitation to see if there's something there that they wouldn't notice was missing. I have done this on numerous occasions and as a result always cheered up when important people visited the laboratories, despite the circumstances. I never eat better than I do on the nights when there is a feast in the Banquet Hall. After all, stealing is an offence punishable by death in all of the districts of Panem, but you are only punished if you're caught.

I leave the dining hall with a very different purpose in mind. In case anybody is watching me I turn left in the direction of my cousin Cassie's office, which is what I would normally do. When I'm almost there I double back and go in the direction of the Banquet Hall. It's complete chaos, with lots and lots of people running around making preparations in a very narrow corridor. I'm obviously just that little bit too early. There is a small storage room next to the main room's side entrance and I go in there, quickly shutting the door behind me and pushing away the memories I have of hiding in a similar place ten years ago. There is nothing I can do now but wait.

I stand as close to the door as I can so I can be ready to run if somebody comes in. For some unknown reason, the door has a long mirror attached to the back of it and I study the reflection staring back at me. Although I'm sixteen, I could pass for as much as two or three years younger. Even as a young child I had always been small, and years of barely having enough to eat has ensured that I didn't grow much bigger. Not like the children of the Capitol and the wealthier districts. I am probably the size of the average ten-year-old from District 1. My hair is the auburn colour of a fox's fur and I suppose if I'm honest with myself this isn't the only fox-like aspect of my appearance. On the very few occasions that I have seen my reflection I have never thought myself pretty.

Then I notice everything has gone quiet outside, so I press my ear against the door to make sure everyone else has gone. When I'm certain I can't hear anything I reach down and take off my shoes. Running into the hall sounding like a herd of elephants would just be stupid and I hope that I will never be that. I open the door slightly and slide through the small gap, poised to dive back in if I should hear somebody in the corridor. There is nobody, so I tiptoe down to the entrance door. They even leave it open. The first time I did this it had all seemed too good to be true and I had been so convinced it was a trap that it took at least an hour for my heart rate to return to normal. I walk into the room and face the tables. They are all lined up against one wall and are covered in dishes of all kinds of meat and fruit and vegetables. I take my already open bag from my back and put a few fruits from each of the dishes nearest to me inside it. The secret to this is to never take so much of one thing that it becomes noticeable. This is very difficult to stick to with the strawberries though. They've always been my favourites.

I can tell from the voices next door that the not-offending-the-Capitol lecture will come to an end very soon so I turn and leave as quickly as I can, grabbing a few rolls of bread as I go. I know that Cassie disapproves of this 'habit of stealing' that I have but I also know she would never dream of reporting me. Especially if I donate some of the food to her.

Cassie is my cousin, my father's brother's daughter. She's ten years older than me and as Father was very close to his brother, I saw a lot of her when I was younger. I worshipped her and used to follow her everywhere. She hated me for it, or she pretended she did anyway. I always knew she didn't really because although she could and frequently did call me all manner of names, there had been trouble for any of the other children who tried to copy her. That is the sort of thing which stays in a person's mind, and I missed her when I was taken away. When I arrived back I discovered that she was working here doing research work for the Capitol and, despite the age difference, she has been my only friend ever since.

"Cassiopeia!" I call as loudly as I dare, knowing how she hates her full name.

My father and uncle must have had a strange sense of humour. I say this because, knowing the fashion in the Capitol for giving their children names that had been popular amongst Romans, a civilisation so ancient that little is known about them, even in the Capitol, they had deliberately given their daughters names from a rival ancient culture, that of Greece. She is Cassiopeia and I am Lysandra. If it wasn't for the fact that it's the only thing I have that Father had given me then I would hate my name as much as my cousin hates hers.

The office door opens quickly and I am pulled roughly inside.

"What do you think you're doing wandering around the corridors at this time of night?"

"Bringing you dinner." I reply.

I'm relieved to see the anger leave my cousin's face at the mention of food. Sitting beside her, I remove a pile of paperwork and scientific equipment from the desk while ignoring the accompanying "Lysa, don't touch that" and replace it with my bag.

"Why do you do it?" she asks.

"If I'm going to the Capitol tomorrow then I want to go on a full stomach."

"You won't be going to the Capitol. You only have five entries, there's virtually no chance."

"There's always a chance, Cass." I say.

The nervous feeling in my stomach I'd pushed away earlier returns worse than ever so I try to distract myself by unpacking the food. We eat in silence for most of the time and I make every effort to enjoy it despite the feeling of having butterflies in my stomach. When we've both finished I stand up and go to leave, but Cassie grabs my wrist tightly. She's looking at me as if she's going to say something serious but what actually comes out is far from that.

"Lysandra, what are you wearing to the reaping?"

I laugh at the absurdity of the question and reply by gesturing to the dark blue tunic and black trousers that I have on now. "I'm the disowned one, remember. I really don't have that much choice."

"You have the green tunic, the colour suits you better than that blue does."

"Whatever you say. I should leave now." I say, suddenly wanting to be alone. "Good night, Cassie."

"Good night, Lysa," she replies quietly to my retreating back as I leave the room.

I walk to my bedroom with my shoes off again, not wanting to be caught in the corridors alone past curfew. Curfew is an unspoken rule rather than an official one. It's amazing how many people and experiments seem to disappear overnight and, as every sensible person in District 5 knows, seeing something you're not meant to see, however unintentionally, is a very unwise thing to do.

I reach the bedroom, which is literally a room with a bed in it and very little else, and sit down on the narrow bed. I don't feel tired. I never sleep the night before the reaping, but then I imagine the same could be said for most of the children of Panem. The ones between the ages of twelve and eighteen anyway. I sometimes wish that I'd been born in one of the districts that have Career Tributes. The Careers are children who are specifically trained for the Games, hated by the non-Career districts because they end so many of their children's lives but adored by their own. I can see the logic behind that admiration - if there are always volunteers for the Games then even if their own children are chosen they won't have to participate. If I was chosen I can say with absolute certainty that nobody would volunteer for me.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep at some stage, because when I open my eyes I can see the daylight through the many holes in the curtains that cover the room's single, tiny window. My first thought is that the alarm bell didn't sound this morning. Less than a second later I remember why. The Reaping.

I force myself to get up, have a wash and get dressed. I brush my hair and tie it back with a piece of green ribbon that I had found in one of the labs. Two seconds later I pull the ribbon from my hair and throw it onto the bed. It would never stay there anyway. My hair always does what it wants to do and my opinion on the matter means very little. And what it wants to do is be left loose.

I give in as usual and look down at myself. I don't have a mirror in my room but I can see enough to know that my clothes are clean and neat. That's good enough for me. If I do go to the Capitol I am determined to do so looking presentable, but I have no intention of dressing up for them. Not that I have much of a choice of outfits even if I wanted to.

Then there's a loud knocking on my door, which interrupts my thoughts. There is only one person that would be here to see me at this time so I open the door.

"I told you the green looked better."

"Does it matter, Cassie. I will be just another face in the crowd."

"The green stands out more. I need to be able to find you so I can keep an eye on you."

I feel myself smiling slightly at her comment. "I haven't needed you to look out for me since I was six years old."

"I know, but you know it makes me feel better if I do."

"You are not in any way responsible for what happened, Cass," I tell her firmly.

I don't understand how she can possibly believe she had anything to do with me being sent to the Community Home. She'd been my age at the time and even if she had been the age she is now she still would have been completely powerless to do anything. I feel the familiar anger that always rises up inside me when we talk about the past. She's the only family that I have and I suppose that I do love her, whatever that means, but I just can't stop the resentment I feel. When her father died she still had her mother. She wasn't abandoned like I was. She got to keep her name.

I turn away from her as I think of that, knowing that she would see the anger written all over my face. My father's surname had been Redwood, as hers still is, but I will forever be known as Lysandra Newton. My name was changed, like those of all District 5 Community Home children, to that of the dormitory where they slept, all named after famous scientists whose names live on long after their discoveries have become obsolete.

"I know. It's just that…"

"We can talk about it this afternoon," I say.

She nods agreement and we leave the room, heading out of the building towards the main square.

* * *

During the so called Dark Days when the Districts were at war with the Capitol, much of District 5 was destroyed. Not in the same way as District 13 of course, but destroyed nevertheless. After the Capitol had subdued and subjugated the districts it had rebuilt most of the buildings, obviously with the focus being on the labs and the places to house the people that worked in them. They built all of the labs in a big square, two to each side, and it's in the centre of this square where they hold the reaping.

It's not raining but it's typically cold and grey when we reach the square. Cassie and I sign in and I walk towards the roped area reserved for the sixteen year olds.

"Lysandra!" Cassie calls. "May the odds be ever in your favour."

I run back to her and she hugs me tightly for a second. I return her hug just as fiercely in what is a very uncharacteristic show of affection. Then we are separated by Peacekeepers, who need to get more people into the square and seem to be attempting to do so as quickly as possible. I look at the big clock on the roof of Laboratory 1 and see that it's ten o'clock already. All of the reapings are held at half hourly intervals so that the audience in the Capitol are able to watch all twelve without interruptions. Of course, if something interesting happens, like one of the tributes breaking down and crying in front of the whole nation before having to be dragged onto the stage by the Peacekeepers, which has happened on more than one occasion that I have seen, the broadcasting from the other, later districts would be delayed anyway. The Capitol audience are the first priority of the Hunger Games. It is essential that they are entertained. Having said that, the Peacekeepers of District 5 obviously don't want to answer to the mayor if the Capitol is kept waiting and they only have half an hour to go. I can see the cameras ready and waiting on the tops of the buildings already.

I duck under the rope barrier that segregates the sixteen-year-olds from the rest of the population and stand as close as I can to the back. I turn to look into the crowd that's gathering behind the children, mostly anxious parents and relatives, but I can't see Cassie. The youngest children are always put at the back and I can see them, terrified expressions on their faces, trying desperately to stand as close to their parents as possible. They are the ones who are still young enough to believe their parents could actually do something to protect them if their name is called. Even as I watch, one young girl has to be physically separated from her mother by the Peacekeepers.

We are tightly packed within the square as they have to get the entire district of around five thousand people into an area that is really too small. I look up at the boy standing closest to me. I vaguely recognise him and think that he works in Laboratory 7 too. Despite this I realise I don't even know his name. He smiles grimly and moves a step closer. I find that I'm slightly comforted by his presence.

The clock strikes once to signal the half hour and silence immediately falls over the entire square. I turn to look up at the stage that's been set up in front of Laboratory 1. It has four elaborate gold chairs upon it, three of which are occupied. Mayor Stafford rises from his chair and walks to the front of the stage. He begins to go through the same speech that he recites every year. He tells us of the formation of Panem from the remains of what had been called North America, of the Capitol and the thirteen districts, and later of the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. He tells us of the Capitol's victory and the total destruction of District 13. I've heard this speech so many times and the mayor really does have the most monotonous voice that I have ever had the misfortune of listening to. As a result I am very easily distracted. My attention is initially attracted by the two other people on the stage. They are Icarus Holsworthy, District 5's escort from the Capitol, a tall man with a very large and round belly and violently purple hair which clashes horrifically with his orange suit, and a thin stern looking woman by the name of Viola Stafford. She is the mayor's wife but she is also a Hunger Games victor. It is obviously her turn to mentor the district's tributes this year.

Currently, Icarus and Viola are having an incredibly heated discussion behind the mayor's back, each of them obviously trying to get their point across without interrupting Mayor Stafford. Surely they must realise that the entire population of Panem will be watching them right now? Icarus gestures towards the crowd and I suddenly understand what they are arguing about - the unoccupied chair on the stage. This chair should be taken by the second previous victor, but he is currently standing in front of the group of eighteen-year-olds, torn between taking up his required position in the ceremony and comforting his fiancée, a slightly built, dark haired girl who I know has taken more tesserae than is good for her.

When my attention returns to the mayor he is finishing his speech by describing the rules of the Hunger Games. There are very few rules actually. Twenty-four tributes, two from each district, thrown into an 'arena' and forced to fight to the death. That is all there is to it really. Oh, and the fact that if anyone tries to protest then their entire district will suffer the same fate as District 13.

The mayor reels off the list of past victors, of which we have a grand total of seven, including his own wife and the young man currently being dragged onto the stage by Icarus Holsworthy, Marcus Arrowsmith. I remember the year that Marcus won. It had been only a couple of years ago, the year when there was so little action in the arena that the Gamemakers had decided to liven up proceedings by destroying all of the food in a storm. That had been the end of the Career Tributes' advantage over the rest and Marcus had won by simply outlasting the rest.

Before I know it, Mayor Stafford has introduced Icarus Holsworthy, who immediately prances onto the stage looking like he takes a great deal more pleasure out of this than he really should. He doesn't seem to me to be a truly evil man, he just has no concept of what he's doing. Father told me once that while there are plenty of people in the Capitol who know exactly what they are doing to the people of the districts, it is just a fact of life to the vast majority and they really do think of us as an inferior species.

"Happy Hunger Games to you all!"

He gives the same cheery greeting every year. What kind of response does he expect? He is about to send two innocent children to almost certain death. Does he expect us to rejoice in that? He carries on talking for a minute, the usual speech about how proud he is to represent District 5. Centre of Panem's scientific research, anyone? Then the moment of truth has arrived. He approaches the girl's reaping ball and draws out a slip of paper. Everybody is silent.

Don't let it be me. Please don't let it be me, I think desperately to myself. There are hundreds of slips in that ball and the ironic thing is that being first in the Community Home and then later in the labs has given me the advantage of not needing to take tesserae. It is not to be though.

"Lysandra Newton!"

I am stunned for a second. Despite trying to rationalise the whole thing in my head on numerous occasions, I know now that I never really considered what would happen if I was chosen and how I would react. I hear an anguished call of my name and know it was Cassie. I will not shame her by weeping in front of the entire nation. I bite my lip so hard that I can taste blood and walk towards the stage. I mount the steps and take my place between Icarus and Marcus, neither of whom look me in the eye.

"Congratulations to our newest tribute, Lysandra Newton!" shouts Icarus.

He begins to clap, which everybody knows is their signal to follow. A half hearted round of applause follows and when he sees that's the best he is going to get, Icarus moves to the other reaping ball.

I stare into the crowd, studying the expressions on their faces. I stop doing this almost immediately. The mixture of sadness that anybody has to be chosen at all and relief that it is either not themselves or their relatives shows clearly and makes it even harder for me to stop myself from crying. I begin to look for Cassie but I can't see her anywhere, despite the bright red tunic that she was wearing.

"Alecto Carrington!"

I don't recognise the name of the unfortunate who is to be my fellow tribute. He looks as terrified as I imagine I had looked. Seventeen years old and condemned to death. Alecto is tall, well, taller than me anyway which isn't hard, and very thin. I don't recognise his face from the dining room so think that he is not the son of a laboratory worker. He is probably from one of the families that lives on the outskirts of the district, scratching a living as best they can with next to nothing. Another victim of the need for tesserae I would think, judging by the wailing woman surrounded by at least six young children at the foot of the stage, to whom he bears more than a slight resemblance.

We shake hands and then turn to face the crowd as the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason and Panem's anthem plays. I will not cry, I say to myself, I will not.


	2. Chapter 2

I wasn't sure if I would but I have done another chapter. My thanks to laxgoal31 and Lost-in-a-book who reviewed the first one.

I still don't own The Hunger Games or its characters

Chapter Two

As soon as the last note of the anthem ends, the Peacekeepers escort me from the stage and into Laboratory 1. For years I have watched new tributes being shepherded into this building and it's still hard to believe that it's my turn now. I wonder if they have ever had any tributes attempt to escape? I've never seen anyone try it but there has to be a reason for the guards. Part of me wants nothing more than to run but I have enough sense left to realise it would be impossible. I probably wouldn't even make it off the stage.

I have been inside Laboratory 1 a few times before, and am no stranger to its stark white corridors, which are virtually identical to those of Laboratory 7. I am shown into a small office that looks a bit like Cassie's and left there alone. After a couple of minutes I try the door and unsurprisingly find it locked. I am a prisoner now. A prisoner who has committed no crime.

This is as far as my knowledge of the Hunger Games process goes, and I have no idea what will happen between now and when I'm taken to the train station to begin my journey to the Capitol. All I can do is sit and wait. I don't have to wait long though. I get the impression that now the reaping is over for another year, all but a few want to distance themselves from the Games as much as possible. Yes, they will have to watch on television, but I know myself that something happening on a television screen is a lot easier to deal with than something happening right in front of your eyes.

I hear the key turn in the lock and the door swings open slowly to reveal Cassie standing there, her face red and blotchy where she has been crying.

"Where were you? I looked for you when they played the anthem and you weren't there." I'm shocked by the sound of my own voice. I sound like a child, a young and terrified little girl, and I've lived through so many years of hiding every weakness that I feel horrified to hear myself sound so pathetic now.

"I couldn't bear to watch you there, Lysa. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I knew they would let me see you so I went to get this."

She holds her hand out to me and I lean over the desk to reach. Into my outstretched hand, she drops a small square of copper that looks vaguely familiar. Then I turn it over and see a roughly defined image of a fox that I have not seen for over ten years.

"Where did you get this?" I snap, annoyed that she has waited until now to tell me she had it.

"I found it. In Room 20."

That was where my father had worked so it makes sense. I remember the day when my six-year-old self had been bored and so wandered off to find the one person who I could always rely on to be doing something interesting and to not shout at me when I interfered. Father had been working but on seeing me he called me over to him and began working on a different task. A few minutes later he handed me the finished product, which was the same piece of copper I hold now.

"He told me it looked like me," I say, the memory releasing the tears that I've been holding back since my name was called.

"Lysandra, come here. Nobody can see you but me."

I stumble past the desk to Cassie and curl up on her lap like a tiny child, crying until I can cry no more.

"You have to come back," she says, although I can tell from her voice that she doesn't hold out much hope I will. This is how we have both been since I arrived back in Laboratory 7. Each trying to be optimistic for the other, neither wanting to be the one to admit to how hopeless our situation truly is.

"Be realistic, Cass. This is goodbye."

"You've given up haven't you?" she shouts. "How could you do that? Our fathers wouldn't have given up. Are you not even going to try?"

I am shocked by her anger and say nothing. Have I given up? I honestly don't know. I can't help but understand that my chances are minimal, but I will be a tribute whether I fight to stay alive or if I stand and wait for a Career's knife to bring me down at the Cornucopia. As much as I hate to admit it, Cassie's right. My father would be ashamed of me if I didn't try, and anyway, if somebody as unappealing and seemingly unintelligent as Viola Stafford can become a Victor then why can't I?

I decide to admit this to my cousin but as I open my mouth to speak the door swings open and one of the Peacekeepers walks in, asking her to leave.

"Just a bit longer, please," Cassie whispers, but if the man hears her it doesn't show. We embrace once more and then she is gone. Once again I am standing alone in the office, clutching the square of copper and staring at the door.

The door opens once more. Maybe it's time to leave? Another Peacekeeper walks in but he is accompanied by Lucius. I dread to think what I must look like. It will surely be obvious that I've been crying. Still, I have nothing to lose now. He can't threaten to hurt or kill me. The Capitol will manage that quite soon enough and will be most vexed if he takes that pleasure away from them.

"As you will surely never be returning, I need to know what stage you're at with the work you've been doing."

He stares down at me and I know then for the first time that I am capable of taking the life of another person, in my mind at least. I'm still not certain if I will be able to kill another tribute in the arena but it's a start. I ignore him completely, fighting hard to keep my face expressionless.

"Well, answer me," he commands.

"Work it out for yourself," I reply. "You can do nothing to me now, and don't even try to tell me you will harm Cassie. I know you need her and the work she is doing. Besides, if I'm as hopeless a case as you believe then it will hardly be worth your while."

"You're too clever for your own good, Lysandra Redwood," he snaps. "You will know I'm right when you don't get past the first day in the arena."

He storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. It opens a second later and I'm taken back through the corridors to a car that's waiting outside to take me to the train. Lucius cannot seriously have expected me to answer him politely like I have been forced to do in the past, can he? No, he was coming to gloat, to celebrate my misfortune, to punish me because of whatever grievance he had with my father. After all, he had called me 'Redwood' not 'Newton', and his hatred of me could never have been caused by my own actions. I wish that I had more time here. Time to find out about what really happened, about the events that led to my father's murder. But then maybe it's better that I don't know. It doesn't matter now anyway, the chances are that I will never have the opportunity to make that decision.

I arrive at the train station before I realise this is only the third time in my life that I have been in a car. Once as a six-year-old to go from Laboratory 7 to the community home and once at thirteen to make the return journey. It doesn't seem as important to me as it might have done this time last week and as the Peacekeeper opens the door I realise that I will not have the opportunity to think any more of it.

There are camera flashes everywhere and a large crowd of people surround me, calling my name and pushing microphones in front of my face.

"What do you feel about becoming a tribute, Lysandra?"

"Lysandra, do you think that you will be a contender in the Games?"

"What will your strategy be in the arena?"

I say nothing as the Peacekeepers surround me and practically carry me in the direction of the train, fighting their way through the mob. Do they seriously expect me to answer their questions? What do they think I will say? That I am deliriously happy to be seemingly sent to my death as I have secretly been training for the moment my name was pulled from the reaping ball since I was five years old? I think it's blatantly obvious to everyone that there's very little chance of me winning, and if I did have a strategy I would be a very special kind of stupid to reveal it on a television broadcast that is compulsory viewing for the entire nation.

Somebody lifts me up into the train at the same time as Alecto, my fellow tribute, escapes the clutches of the reporters and climbs up to stand beside me. They call our names repeatedly and we are forced to pose for photographs. He looks even thinner now that I have the chance to look at him more closely, like he has gone through all of his seventeen years without ever having a decent meal.

I escape into the cabin as quickly as I can and then come to a sudden stop. I have never seen such an opulently decorated room. The wallpaper is a deep shade of red and the wood of the table and chairs is an equally deep mahogany. The table has already been prepared for a meal and every plate, glass, knife and fork looks like it is made from solid gold.

As Alecto moves to stand beside me I can see that he is even more stunned by his surroundings than I am. So stunned that he visibly jumps when Icarus and Viola bustle into the room.

"We will be departing for the Capitol immediately. I suggest you get some rest before dinner. You have a very busy few days ahead of you,"

"I'm sure we'll be very busy preparing to meet our end in the most entertaining way possible. We wouldn't want to disappoint the Capitol."

"That kind of attitude will not win you sponsors, my girl," snaps Viola. She is clearly annoyed by me already but I really don't care.

Two Avoxes in simple white tunics enter the cabin and one of them approaches me, gesturing for me to follow her. She looks even younger than me. What can she possibly have done to deserve her fate? I have seen many Avoxes before. They are a common sight in District 5 as they often come to collect paperwork for officials in the Capitol, but I still don't get used to them and the pity that I feel.

The chambers I'm given are about four times the size of my room in District 5. The first thing that I notice is that the curtains don't have a single hole in them. I walk around the room a couple of times, marvelling at the luxury that surrounds me, before I realise that as much as I dislike Viola she does have a point and having a rest is an appealing idea. I lie down on the massive bed and let the movement of the train rock me to sleep.

* * *

"Lysandra, wake up!" is the first thing that I hear, accompanied by lots of incredibly loud knocking on the door. I sit up slowly and, after a few seconds, walk over to open the door. Icarus is standing in the doorway, his hideous orange suit exchanged for an equally hideous lime green version which clashes just as badly with his hair. Why do all Capitol people look so…alien?

"Dinner's in five minutes and you haven't even changed your clothes."

I consider asking why I have to change my clothes when the ones I'm wearing really aren't dirty, but then I decide that it is better not to argue over small insignificant details. If I co-operate at this stage then there is a very small chance that they may listen to me in the future if I object to something else. I suddenly have this vision of a tribute girl from a previous year who was forced to go through the Opening Ceremony completely naked.

I rush over to the drawer cabinet and, after searching through a number of brightly coloured dresses, pull out a red tunic and a pair of black trousers. Five minutes later I open the door of my cabin and set off down the narrow corridor towards the cabin that I had first seen.

The four others are already there waiting when I arrive, sitting around the table obviously waiting to eat. There is already food there, which looks exactly like the food I had seen in the Banquet Hall. Food fit for the Capitol. I can't believe it was only yesterday that I had been there. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Alecto is clearly finding it very difficult not to start eating and has picked up a bread roll before I even sit down. He doesn't notice the glare given to him by Viola but I do and I quickly start eating my own roll before being given permission. I don't know why I take every opportunity I get to annoy her but I do. It's one of the few amusements that I have.

Now we are all present, talk turns to our prospects in the Games and what our strategy will be. I try to block them out and eat as much of the amazing food as I can. Every time I clear my plate an Avox appears, carrying something else so that I can fill it up again. I have never eaten so much in my life.

"Maybe they have hidden talents."

I look up at this particular comment from Icarus, who was staring at me intently from behind his purple fringe.

"If they have they are very well hidden."

Viola, obviously.

"I think we should get the Opening Ceremony over with first. There will be time enough to discuss strategy properly when we get to the Training Centre."

Marcus smiles slightly at me and I wonder what he has to be happy about, that is beside the fact that he isn't sitting where I'm sitting. Then I remember the girl in the square. Today had been her last reaping, she was safe and would never be chosen.

"One of them could still win," says Icarus. "You can never tell what the Gamemakers will do each year. There's still a chance."

"Yes, there's still a chance," agrees Marcus, using the same tone of voice that Cassie used when telling me that I had to come home.

There is a loud crash and I almost jump up from my seat. When did I become so easily startled? I look in the direction the sound had come from and am surprised to see Alecto, who had hit the table with his fist.

"Do you think there's a chance that my family will survive without me? Since my father left I'm the only one working to feed a family of eight. Without me they will all starve. What does the Capitol think of that? Maybe they should go to District 5 and film them as they die to provide the people with even more entertainment!"

He shouts the last sentence, directing his rage at Icarus, the only person from the Capitol that he can. Despite how shocked I was by the first sign of his impending outburst, I am even more shocked by his words. He has barely said a word since the reaping and given no indication that he felt anything more than a quiet acceptance of his fate. I feel sorry for him but I feel sorry for myself too. If I couldn't see that coming then will I really be as good at reading the emotions of the other tributes as I thought I might be? And that is the only chance I have. I can't beat them with physical strength so I will have to use mental strength, the only weapon I have.

"You'll just have to try very hard to win then, won't you?" Icarus replies.

He appears completely unmoved by Alecto's speech, as does Viola. I don't know what to say but I feel like I should say something to support my fellow tribute, despite the fact that in less than a week we will be in the arena competing for survival by trying to kill each other. I open my mouth to speak and catch Marcus gesturing for silence in my direction without even looking at me, as if he knew I was going to protest before I knew it myself. Am I that easy to read? Now I'm even more worried. Avoxes bring in the last course of our meal, a huge chocolate cake, and we eat in silence.

* * *

"We should go to watch the competition," says Marcus, breaking the silence. "They're going to replay the other reapings now."

I'm not sure if I really want to see what the other tributes are like but at this particular moment in time I'm happy to go with any suggestion that enables me to leave this carriage. The five of us get up and walk the short distance to the next cabin, again richly decorated but with dark green wallpaper this time, just as the anthem begins.

I sit down in one of the five huge armchairs in front of the television screen and force myself to watch as the commentator announces himself and the reaping for the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The seal of the Capitol appears and seconds later 'District One' flashes up in red letters.

"District 1 is always entertaining," says Viola.

It's okay for her. The Games are just a distant memory to her and her youngest child was nineteen five years ago. She can view the reapings as entertaining. I cannot.

The people and buildings of District 1 appear on the screen. They're so grand that we could almost be watching the Capitol. As they are the first district, I get to hear their mayor recite the same speech that I heard only hours before. He finishes and makes his introductions then, as the escort draws the first name from the reaping ball, a mass of people surge towards the stage. The same thing happens every year in District 1. It is such an honour to win the reaping that everyone who believes they are capable of winning the Games races to be the one to get there first.

"That's how the reaping works in District 1," says Icarus, struggling to contain his laughter. "The first boy and girl to reach the stage win."

"I can see that." I reply, struggling to contain my contempt for the whole process as much as he is his laughter. He just glares at me in return so I say nothing further.

With all the commotion going on I don't hear the names of the two tributes but I can see who they are, as the escort is holding their arms high into the air to symbolise their victory. Both are twice my size, but this is not the first thing I notice. The first thing I notice is the girl. She is incredibly beautiful, with big green eyes and blonde hair that falls in waves down her back. There goes everybody else's chances of winning sponsorship based on their good looks, not that I had much chance of doing that anyway. She looks down into the crowd of unsuccessful would-be-tributes with a look of such disdain that I can see she's been used to looking down on people all of her life. I wonder if she will find the arena as easy to cope with as she thinks she will? One thing is certain; there will be no luxury goods there.

"Looking like that will get her more sponsors than most of the rest put together."

Honestly, if it was part of the Hunger Games to award a prize to the person who can be most relied on to continually state the blindingly obvious then our escort would undoubtedly win. I choose not to comment as the broadcast is moving on to District 2.

My first impressions of District 2 are completely different to those I had of District 1. As one of the closest districts to the Capitol, it is responsible for maintaining the city's electricity supply, amongst other things that we have never been told of. I can see signs of this surrounding the area where their reaping is taking place. The camera crews appear to be perched on top of electricity pylons and I wonder how they can possibly do this safely. The buildings look a great deal like those of District 5 in size and shape but they are grey and dirty rather than white and perfectly maintained. I imagine that's because the citizens of the Capitol see more of my district on the television. After all, they are bound to want to see where their cosmetics and hair dye comes from and would be horrified if it came from somewhere that looked like District 2.

The usual introductions are made and I wait for the mob to rush to the stage. They never appear. A slip of paper is pulled from one of the reaping balls, which both look unusually full for a district with a population of only around seven thousand. It appears to be the male tribute who is chosen first and when the name is announced a small boy of about twelve or thirteen walks towards the stage. There is something strange about this boy that I can't quite work out.

As I watch him get closer and closer I realise what it is. There are no horrified cries from his parents, no collective drawing in of breath as a sign of disgust from a crowd that does not wish to see another defenceless child sent to his death. Even the boy himself does not look the slightest bit scared as he climbs the steps and takes his position on the podium. I am about to ask Marcus if this is normal, as I watch the boy smiling and waving at somebody in the crowd, when the escort asks if there are any volunteers. The group of eighteen year olds immediately clears a path for a hugely muscled, vicious looking boy, well, man really, who saunters up to the stage, announces himself to the crowd and moves to stand beside the mayor as all of the people gathered there cheer. What chance can I possibly have against the likes of him?

"I don't understand," I say. "I know that District 2 is a career district so why was there no competition to win the reaping?"

"They have the competition a whole month before the day of the reaping. To give the winners time to recover before the Games start. In the other Career districts nobody obviously trains for the Games but in 2 they're all trained together."

I decide immediately that I don't wish to know what happens to the losers in that particular competition. "A school for Careers?" I suggest slightly mockingly to Marcus. "Doesn't the Capitol know? Everyone knows it's illegal to prepare for the Games."

"I thought you were cleverer than that, Lysandra. Of course they know. But having the Career Tributes makes for more entertaining viewing. As long as they're not fighting in the streets and don't have 'Hunger Games Tribute Training Centre' on a sign over the door, the Capitol are more than happy to deny all knowledge."

"Oh," I say. It all seems obvious now that he's said it.

"Orphaned children, or children whose parents simply can't afford to feed them are often left at the gates of what they call the Training Centre. These are the children who will grow up to have the chance to fight to represent District 2 in the Games when they're eighteen. That's why the other children take as many tesserae as they like and have no fear of becoming tributes. The only time the person whose name is drawn on reaping day will actually go to the Capitol is if they are a Career Tribute older than fifteen."

"How do you know so much about them?"

"I heard them talking about it in training when I was a tribute. Both from 2 were more than happy to discuss how many they killed to get to the position they were in."

I find it both interesting and horrifying to hear about the lives of people from other districts. Many things I hear about District 2 make me think more fondly of my own district. 'Stop it', I tell myself. You're only thinking that because you know you will never see it again. Things happen in my district that make District 2 look like paradise.

My focus returns to the television just as the escort announces the name of the girl tribute. A girl by the name of Clove. I don't quite catch her last name as the crowd are still cheering for the man called Cato so loudly that the Capitol escort's voice is drowned out.

The camera fixes on a girl standing at the front of the seventeen-year-old's enclosure. She has pale skin, shoulder length dark hair, and in her way is just as beautiful as the girl from District 1. Except she looks a hundred times more deadly. The shock of being chosen shows on her face, although she is clearly trying to hide it. A boy only slightly smaller than Cato who is standing behind her gives her a slight push, and when she quickly spins round to face him he runs backwards so fast he falls over the people standing behind him. Clove smirks and walks away in the direction of the stage. This one is clearly feared. Disgusted with myself, I realise that I fear her too.

The cameras return to the group of people on the stage as Clove approaches them. They especially focus on Cato, who is watching her intently. He's probably thinking of how he's going to kill her, I decide, but even as I think it I can see that is not the case. There's another emotion showing on his face, one that I can't quite identify but definitely isn't hatred. They shake hands and turn to face the crowd for the anthem. Neither meets the eyes of the other even once.

The programme quickly cuts to District 3 but nothing really stands out about this reaping. I see a girl who appears to be my age or a little bit younger and a boy who looks barely old enough to be eligible. They have both been well fed though, and do not have the haunted look in their eyes that a lot of Panem's children possess. By the time we see District 4 I am too busy thinking about my own reaping to notice much of what is going on on the screen. District 4 is traditionally the third Career district and although the tributes do not make the same impact on me as those from 1 and 2 did, I do notice this year is no different.

Then I see the familiar buildings of District 5. I see Mayor Stafford standing on the stage with Icarus, Viola and Marcus, just as I did in real life only hours earlier. As Icarus moves towards the first reaping ball, the nerves I felt at the time return to me in full force, even though I already know what will happen. I cling to one of the armchair's many cushions but make myself continue to watch, tasting blood and realising that the self-inflicted cut on my lip has reopened. I remember how hard I was trying not to let my emotions show and hope I was successful. My name is shouted into the silent crowd once more and the camera finds me almost immediately. The pessimistic side of me thinks I look small and weak. The more optimistic side of me, such as it is, sees that I am not crying. In fact I don't even look upset. If anything I look angry.

"You do at least have enough sense to look like you have a plan then," hisses Viola. "That's the secret, to always appear one step ahead of everything even if you don't feel it. That will get you sponsors because they will want to see what you do next."

From a woman as perpetually miserable as the mayor's wife, I take this as a compliment. The first one that I have ever heard her give. Maybe she doesn't think I'm a complete lost cause. She thinks that I look like I already have a plan, so I suppose I should try to think of one. If I work really hard in training I might be able to learn to use one weapon well enough to survive. Or I could use Viola's own strategy of doing whatever she could to stay out of the way and make the others forget about her until the very end when there was only one other tribute alive. I even consider attempting to form an alliance with the Careers. I then come to the conclusion that I will never be able to learn to fight in three days and that Cato and Clove would kill me before I could even speak. Only Viola's method has potential.

"Lysandra, are you paying attention to this at all? How will you compete if you don't know against whom you are competing?"

Viola brings me abruptly back to reality and as my gaze returns to the screen I see a boy with a crippled foot hobble to the stage to complete his part in the familiar ceremony. He makes his way slowly up the steps and in a way I'm glad to see him struggle. This means one less tribute to worry about, for surely he will not be a threat.

Shockingly, I have been daydreaming throughout not only the end of my own reaping but also for the duration of four other ceremonies. The boy with the crippled foot must be from District 10 because red letters spelling 'District Eleven' appear. It's immediately obvious that District 11 is the agricultural district, as wide expanses of fields and orchards are clearly visible, stretching into the distance behind the dilapidated buildings and narrow, dusty streets of the main square.

Apart from the Careers, this year seems to be the year for very young-looking tributes. On seeing the girl from 11 it's almost impossible to believe that she is any older than ten. I wait for her to break down and weep, sure that this will be one who has to be dragged onto the stage kicking and screaming for her mother, but I am proved wrong. The girl holds her head high and walks with short but determined steps all the way from the back of the crowd to the front. As she climbs the steps there is a call for volunteers but none come forward.

The male tribute is selected and he doesn't have nearly as far to walk. The only thing he has in common with his female counterpart is his dark coloured skin and eyes. He has the appearance of a Career Tribute and is easily as big and threatening as Cato. He moves to stand next to the girl, towering over her. He is at least four times her size and could kill her with only his bare hands and very little effort. He isn't a Career though, that much is clear to see, for when he looks down at her I see nothing but pity in his eyes.

All I feel is relief when 'District Twelve' flashes up on the screen. Only one left. I feel exhausted and seeing my fellow tributes has done nothing to increase what little confidence I have that I will live to see the end of next week.

District 12's only surviving victor staggers drunkenly onto the stage and makes a grab for the Capitol escort, who pushes him away as quickly as she can, but not before he knocks her bright pink wig way off-centre. I can't help smiling, especially when I imagine Viola's face if she was put in the same position. The escort, Effie Trinket, rapidly tries to salvage something from the situation by trotting off on her ludicrously high heels towards the girls' reaping ball. She calls 'Primrose Everdeen' and yet another tiny girl makes her way to the front of the group. Then another girl sprints after her, screaming her name. She pushes the younger girl out of the way and shouts that she wants to volunteer with obvious desperation in her voice. When she is accepted onto the stage and announces her name as Katniss Everdeen I realise what has happened. The escort calls for applause and there is complete silence, then everyone in the crowd raises their left hand with their three middle fingers outstretched in salute to the girl who has given her own life for her sister's.

The rest of the final reaping passes without incident and before I know it, the anthem is playing to signal the end of the broadcast. I can hear the others begin to chat amongst themselves but I try to block them out. All I can think about is Katniss and the sacrifice she made. Now she is a tribute on a train to the Capitol, just like me, but her circumstances are so very different. She is not a tribute because her name was drawn from the reaping ball, she is a tribute because she has a sister who she loves so much she is willing to die for her. I realise that despite the fact we will surely share the same fate in the arena, what I am feeling is jealousy.


	3. Chapter 3

This is the real Chapter 3 now! Thank you to everybody who reviewed the last one - I really do appreciate hearing what you think of the story and I am sure that other people that post on here will agree with me when I say that receiving reviews is the best part of posting!

This chapter was harder to write than the first two, especially the Remake Centre bit so I would love to know what you think.

Chapter Three

It's a long way to the Capitol from District 5, but before I know it everything goes dark in the cabin despite it being mid-morning, indicating we have passed into the tunnel through the mountains that leads to the city. I dread having to leave the train as I know the cameras will be on me once more. It will be different when the Games actually start, the cameras will be the least of my worries then, but at the moment they are the worst thing. To be unable to show any form of emotion for fear of losing potential sponsors or risking being identified as an easy target by the other tributes makes everything worse. I suppose that's the whole point, as we would not provide the Capitol with nearly as much entertainment if we were able to accept our fate easily and calmly.

Light returns abruptly to the cabin a short time later and from my position by the window I see the Capitol for the first time. I've seen it before on the television of course, but no amount of compulsory broadcasts and lectures at school could have prepared me for the scale of what I see before me now. Even the buildings that surround the train station are huge and impossibly grand. I can't begin to imagine how people could build such things. There are people everywhere and they all seem to be looking in the direction of our train.

"Why are they all looking at us?"

I turn away from the strange-looking people of the Capitol to face Alecto, who is staring at everyone watching the train as if he thinks they're about to attack him. What chance will he have when faced with the other tributes, those who really are going to attack him?

"They recognise the train, Alecto. They know that it's a tribute train and want to be the first to see us." I feel like I'm explaining things to a child despite him being older than me.

"I don't want to go out there. I just want to go home to my family."

"Do you think I want to be here either?" I snap, speaking with more aggression than I really feel. I know I shouldn't get to know my fellow tribute too well as it will only be more difficult when we get to the arena and I've done quite a good job of avoiding him so far. "You stand a better chance of getting back to them if you accept your fate. Waiting for someone to tell you this is all a bad dream isn't going to work."

He turns and leaves without replying, so I return my gaze to what's happening outside.

The train has stopped and there is a large crowd waiting on the platform. Most of them are reporters, judging by their notepads and cameras, but a small number of other people seem to have pushed their way to the front of the group. Most of them are young men and women. I heard once that the young people of the Capitol are often the ones who are most fascinated by the tributes. I suppose that the Hunger Games really is just a game to them. We are just the living and breathing pieces in that game which are theirs to move as they wish when they decide in whose direction to send their sponsorship money. Seeing the group of teenage boys hovering, waiting to see who will emerge from the train, I envy the District 1 girl whose name I still don't know. Icarus might be extremely irritating, but he was right when he said that she wouldn't be short of sponsors.

Even as I think this, the aforementioned Capitol escort breezes into the cabin giving every impression that he hasn't a care in the world, which, when I think about it, he probably hasn't. He's accompanied by our mentors and a rather reluctant Alecto, who ignores me completely. Nobody speaks, they just look out of the window, and after a few minutes I lose patience.

"So what happens now?"

"You go to the Remake Centre. To prepare for tonight's ceremony."

I had a horrible feeling that would be the answer I received. The Opening Ceremony is not until this evening. What could they possibly do to me that will take eight hours? The image of the poor girl forced to parade through the streets of the Capitol completely naked returns to haunt me. I hope that whoever I get as my stylist doesn't think this is a trend that should be repeated.

"How are we going to get there with all of those people on the platform?"

Alecto really does hate the cameras even more than I do, which is quite an achievement. Feeling scared and trapped is perfectly understandable given the situation we're in, but I do wish that he would at least try to keep his feelings to himself just a bit. I still have to stand in a tiny little chariot with him tonight and if he looks terrified then any potential sponsors will not put any money behind District 5 this year. I know we won't work together in any way in the arena, but I have seen it happen before. If there is one tribute who stands out for whatever reason, whether it be because they appear particularly strong or particularly weak, the second, more average tribute fades more quickly from memory and often finds themselves sponsor-less as a result. I do not want to be that tribute.

"By walking out of the station with them like you would with your friends," replies Icarus. As if we ever have the opportunity to walk out of a train station with our friends. "If you want to survive you need sponsors and a favourable write-up by the reporters. Make friends now and you will benefit later."

"And exactly how do you expect us to make friends with people who are only here because they can't wait to watch us die on national television?"

"Be charming, Lysandra. Or if you're unable to manage that, then at least try not to look like it's them you wish to kill rather than your fellow tributes."

I glare at him as Marcus throws open the cabin doors and I am once again surrounded by flashes of light and people shouting. I attempt to fix a smile on my face as I walk down the platform towards the waiting car and, as I look up at the enormous television screen that's on the side of one of the buildings, I can see that I have just about managed. As Icarus would put it, I've not quite managed happy but have at least avoided murderous.

Once more, guards push me through the crowd and into the car. I'm surprised when Marcus pushes Alecto after me and then climbs in himself, mere seconds before the reporters reach us.

"It's only a few minutes walk to the Remake Centre. Having said that, I'm sure you understand the need for the cars."

"I can see that a few minutes would quickly turn into a few hours," I say. I receive a nod in return. "Will this really be as bad as I think it will be?"

I don't like to voice my fears but I somehow feel that I can trust Marcus. After all, he is only a few years older than me and I sense that his memories of the Games are considerably stronger than Viola's. If there is anyone in this mad world I find myself in that will understand what I feel it will be him.

However his only response to my perfectly serious question is to laugh. "In all the years I've been doing this, Lysandra, you are the first tribute I have ever known who seems to fear the stylists more than you do your rivals."

I scowl at him. "The other tributes are easier to deal with. If I think about it, it's possible to calculate what they're thinking and how they will act. Capitol stylists are a separate species entirely. What they are thinking, if they think at all, is anyone's guess."

Once again, he just laughs in response.

* * *

I look up at the Remake Centre, the building which I have seen so many tributes depart from on their way to the Training Centre for the next stage of the Games. It has a white frame supporting what appears to be a building made entirely from glass, on the outside at least. Inside I can see vast numbers of people running around, shouting instructions to each other. One man, who has actually dyed his skin purple, stops in front of me and demands that the harassed-looking assistant trailing after him fetches the silver body paint immediately. I desperately hope that he isn't my stylist.

Once we are through the doors, Marcus leads Alecto in one direction and Viola gestures for me to follow her the opposite way.

"You must not object, whatever they get you to wear."

"Why?" I ask, both because I know it will irritate her and because, despite being virtually a slave for my whole life, I have never been one to obey orders without question.

"Because that's the way it works. You have to trust the stylists to do what is necessary to win you sponsors."

"You expect me to have faith in the judgement of a man who has dyed his skin purple?"

She sighs deeply. "I miss the tributes from last year. They simply accepted what they were told and followed instructions without arguing."

"Yes, and look where that got them. I didn't see a District 5 victor last year."

"Go in there and wait for the prep team," she says in a low voice, visibly angry now as she pushes open a nearby door.

Maybe that's why I knowingly provoke her so much. I want her to lose her temper with me so I know that she still can. So I know that she is still alive, that the Games haven't killed her inside despite her victory.

* * *

For once I do as she says and she pulls the door shut sharply behind me. The room I find myself in is empty of all furniture apart from a narrow table that greatly resembles the examination tables we use in the labs back in District 5. I instinctively look for other entrances or windows, even though I have long since given up hope of escape, but find nothing. The only way out is through the door I have just used.

I wait for what seems like hours but in reality is probably only a few minutes, when I suddenly hear the familiar, high-pitched accent of the Capitol, accompanied by very rushed footsteps. The door is thrown open so violently that it hits the wall with a loud bang.

If I thought that the people I had seen at the train station looked odd, they are nothing compared to the sight I see before me now. Standing in the doorway are what appears to be two women and a man, though my eyes are so blinded by the array of bright colours that I can't be sure.

"We are here to make you beautiful for your big day!" exclaims the man, who makes it sound like I'm getting married rather than being prepared to fight for my life. This is where we discover exactly how different our ideas of beauty truly are.

I say nothing, deciding that letting the whole thing happen around me while at the same time trying very hard to block it out is the best policy. I am instructed to undress and put on the thin robe which I can see on the table. It takes a while to process this instruction and my initial response is to stare incredulously at my tormentors. Maybe it's normal in the Capitol to strip off in front of total strangers but it's certainly not normal for me.

I do as I am instructed, pulling the robe tightly around me, and the prep team circle around me like wolves surrounding a deer. Something about this comparison makes me angry with myself. Am I really such a weak and frightened child that I am going to allow three imbeciles from the Capitol make me feel this way? I force myself to stand up straight and uncross my arms.

"What are your names?" I ask. It doesn't matter to me if I know their names or not but it's the only polite question I can think of. I don't think "Is your ability to wear so many clashing colours at once taught or is it genetically inherited?" is terribly appropriate.

"My name is Lucilla," replies one of the women, smiling broadly and clearly thinking that they have won me over. She is the most normal-looking amongst them, despite the fact that she has green and silver hair. "This is Valeria and Marius."

"I'm Lysandra."

"Oh, we know that, dear. We have a list of all the tributes."

It is then that I realise I am simply a name on a piece of paper to them. An unfinished product that has to be brought up to the Capitol's exacting standard before being unveiled at tonight's ceremony.

"We will have you looking like a normal person in no time," says the other woman, Valeria. She has the most extreme Capitol accent I have ever heard, both in real life and on the television, and it is plain that she can see nothing remotely offensive about her comment.

* * *

For the next few hours I am subjected to every indignity the prep team could possibly imagine, all in the aid of 'looking beautiful for my big day'. By the time they declare me fit to be seen by my stylist I have been pushed and pulled around so much that I feel like a different person, only not in a positive sense. I don't think my body will feel like part of me ever again.

Neither Lucilla nor Marius have paid much attention to me at all, and this doesn't change as they prepare to summon the stylist, whose identity I still don't know. From what I overhear they spend most of their time discussing what seem to be their favourite and only topics of conversation: the misfortunes of their fellow Hunger Games stylists, the latest inane Capitol television programmes and, most importantly of all, themselves. This, however, is preferable to Valeria.

"You really are much too thin," she says for what seems like the hundredth time.

For the entire duration of the time I've spent in the Remake Centre, she has done nothing but comment on my perceived imperfections. After over three hours of this, my deepest wish is for the ability to make her a tribute and then lock her in the smallest room I can find with Cato and Clove. After the Games have started.

They circle around me one last time and Valeria runs a cloth over my arm before rushing from the room calling for Claudius. I am surprised to hear that name. He has been a stylist at the Games for as long as I can remember but is usually responsible for one of the wealthier districts. I wonder what he's done to deserve his demotion to District 5? It doesn't really matter. And although the clothes he puts his tributes in have often been outrageous, at least he always puts them in clothes. By this stage, I am grateful for small mercies.

I expect him to finally make an appearance and am almost disappointed when the door opens and it is only Lucilla who walks in.

"Claudius is having a problem with your dress. He's told me to start your make-up."

My expression must have revealed my lack of confidence because she quickly adds, "He's provided me with a full list of instructions." Is knowing that she needs to follow written instructions supposed to make me feel better? What problem with my dress? Though I suppose I should be glad that I _have _a dress for there to be a problem with.

I sit in front of a huge gold mirror and watch as Lucilla gradually puts so much make-up on my face that I doubt I will ever be able to change my expression again. It itches terribly but every time I reach up to scratch, she pushes my hand away.

"That is as much as I can do. Claudius is on his way, he will finish you off."

I am tempted to remind her that finishing me off is supposed to be the job of the other tributes and not my stylist, but swiftly decide that she would probably not see the funny side. Apart from keeping the districts under control, the main purpose of the Hunger Games is to amuse the citizens of the Capitol, but for different and considerably more frivolous reasons, a lot of them seem to take it just as seriously as we do.

The door is once again opened with such force that it almost flies off its hinges. I look up to find myself faced with the man who is probably the only person in the entire of Panem wearing more make up than me. He is so orange with fake tan that I strongly suspect he would glow in the dark. He narrows his already small blue eyes at me and gestures to the middle of the room.

"Stand up. Over there."

Part of me wants to fold my arms and sit as deeply in my chair as I can, having a strop like a small child given an order that it doesn't like. However this will merely prolong my torture so I do as he says, watching him the whole time.

"What was wrong with the dress?" I ask, continuing with my attempts to make conversation as he mirrors the prep team, walking in circles around me.

"The idiots that I'm forced to work with made it too big. My team and I are used to working with normal sized tributes."

"I am normal sized at home," I reply, trying to keep my tone of voice as neutral as possible despite the anger I can feel rising. My comment is not strictly correct as I have always been small for my age, but as Claudius is used to dressing overfed Careers who have never missed a meal, there seems little point in mentioning this. I resist the temptation to ask him why he isn't still dressing 'normal sized' tributes.

He doesn't respond, he only continues to pace around the room, muttering to himself under his breath. When he reaches the point where he needs to decide between copper body paint or stencil patterns, I decide that stencil patterns are definitely preferable. I have to influence him while still making him think that he has made the decision.

"Stencil patterns," I say. When he turns to face me, he looks genuinely shocked that I have the ability to speak. Nevertheless I persist. "You did spray paint last year. The people will think that you can't do anything else. And stencils require so much more skill."

His gaze returns to my face for a couple of minutes, but he looks thoughtful this time. "Yes, this year I will try something different." One small victory to Lysandra.

It takes him over an hour to draw swirling patterns on my arms and legs using a strange copper coloured pencil. Just as I am about to fall asleep he stands up and moves away from me, a wide smile on his already wide face.

"Just the rest of your make up and then we can fetch your dress."

More make up? I don't think it is physically possible to get any more make up on my face without it all sliding off like a mask. However, Claudius achieves the impossible and adds some eyeshadow, copper, of course, thick black eyeliner and mascara and finally red lipstick. As I attempt to look at my reflection in the mirror, Marius swoops down and plucks it from the table, gushing at me in his ludicrous Capitol accent.

"No peeping until you're finished. We don't want to spoil the surprise!"

Seconds later Valeria enters the room carrying an object wrapped in a gold bag as if it's liable to explode at any second. So this is the dress. I'm not sure if I want to see it or not. Claudius quickly removes it from Valeria's clutches and hangs it from a hook on the wall. He pulls the bag away and I get my first view of what I will have no choice but to wear. It looks like a single sheet of copper, more like a suit of armour than a dress, and gives every impression that it weighs more than I do. I reach out to touch it and get a pleasant surprise when the fabric moves and folds in my hand. I have long since given up my modesty and am not at all shocked when Valeria removes my robe and Claudius helps me into the dress. He adjusts it a couple of times then nods to the prep team.

"We got there eventually," he says, with a deep sigh.

The three members of my prep team clap enthusiastically, but despite their assurances that I look "Fabulous!", "Amazing!" and "Quite attractive considering what you looked like when we started," I am not convinced. The dress is really heavy and the skin on my arms and legs is starting to itch.

The mirror reappears, is folded down so that it's full length, and for the first time I see what they have spent the whole afternoon doing to me. The dress matches my hair exactly and the swirling patterns on my skin complete the illusion of me being almost entirely copper-coloured. Fox-coloured, I suddenly realise, laughing to myself. Will I never be rid of this fox comparison? Even my stylist, who barely thinks of me as a human being, has picked up on the resemblance. I almost ask him where the ears and tail are but decide that giving him ideas before he has finished my interview outfit would not be a good idea.

* * *

Claudius leads me out of my torture chamber and down the corridor, back towards the lifts. There is no sign of Viola or any of the District 5 team. I wonder where Alecto is as we will surely have to go down to the chariots soon. I hear footsteps coming from the other end of the corridor and I see Julius, Claudius' partner and fellow stylist, followed by a still terrified-looking Alecto. This is not good.

Together, we walk the short distance to the lift and I move away from Claudius to stand beside Alecto. He is dressed all in black apart from his cloak, which is made from the same material as my dress and is so long that he has to walk carefully to avoid tripping over it. Once again, he doesn't look at me.

"You look terrified," I say.

"You sound surprised. It's not every day that you are paraded in front of a crowd of people who view you as less than human and are currently betting on how many hours you will live for."

Maybe he's more intelligent than I give him credit for. I will have to try a different approach.

"I saw your family at the reaping."

He smiles faintly as he thinks of them. "They relied on me," he says, and I notice that he is already using the past tense. He doesn't have any hopes of surviving at all.

"How do you want them to remember you? As a petrified and beaten man or as their oldest son and brother who faced the Capitol with strength and honour?"

He looks at me for what is probably the first time since the reaping. "I don't want them to remember me, I want to be there with them. I want to be there to work and put food on the table."

"I know, but you can't always have what you want. Surely you know that by now. Whether you go out there with your head held high or with your eyes downcast you will still remain a tribute and your family will still see you."

The bell rings to signal that the lift has arrived. As I go to step forwards, Alecto grabs my wrist and nods grimly as I turn to face him. It seems that some of the things I said have begun to sink in.

"Hurry up!" shouts Claudius. "We're late already!"

I step into the lift with the other three and we speed down to the ground floor of the Remake Centre. As the doors slide open I am instantly hit with a wall of noise. There are people running in all directions, shouting across the vast space of the courtyard to each other, and, although the gates to the centre remain tightly closed, I can hear the low hum of the waiting crowd on the other side.

This is the first opportunity I have had to see my fellow tributes in the flesh rather than on a television screen, so I look around. All I can see is the chariots being prepared by various Capitol minions and it's obvious that, despite Claudius' insistence that we will be late if we don't hurry, we are actually early. Alecto and I are about the third or fourth pair of tributes to arrive and I can't see anyone who stood out to me when I watched the reapings.

As I stand silently in the midst of the chaos surrounding me, with the never ending noise of the crowd ringing in my ears, I suddenly feel what I have been fighting to subdue all day, well since that morning in the square back in District 5 actually. Fear. I am suddenly so overwhelmed by my fear that I don't even realise that somebody is speaking to me until Claudius shouts my name so loudly that all of the other people stop what they are doing to stare at us.

"Lysandra! Stop embarrassing me. You need to move out of the way of the lift. Now!"

I am grateful to him for being so obnoxious because my anger returns once more and it suppresses some of the fear. Me embarrassing him? He is the one wearing the fluorescent yellow suit. Not that I'm really in a position to criticise anybody's clothes at this particular moment in time, but that isn't the point.

"Don't be a hypocrite, Lysandra," whispers Alecto, before he turns away to watch the other tributes and stylists. Maybe I did my job of talking him out of his depression and panic a bit too well.

The lift doors ring again and they open to reveal the tributes of District 1. They have both been spray painted silver and wear matching tunics decorated with what looks like thousands of tiny jewels. The girl looks even more beautiful than she did on the day of the reaping, and as they are helped into the first chariot, which is drawn by four snow-white horses, it is clear that the boy from her district can't take his eyes off her.

Cato and Clove appear shortly after, accompanied by their stylists, who seem to be treating them with considerably more respect than Claudius does me. I notice that one of the District 2 mentors is also there, hovering in front of the lifts with his charges. Why is he here? I haven't seen Marcus or Viola since I was abandoned in the Remake Centre this morning and had assumed that they had gone to the Training Centre ahead of us. I quickly look around but can see no sign of them.

My focus returns to District 2 as tributes, stylists and mentor seem to be having a whispered but furious argument about something involving Clove's dress, which she gestures to violently every few seconds. Both District 2 tributes are wearing outfits of a metallic grey that looks more practical than decorative, in colour at least. Cato has been given something that greatly resembles a suit of armour without sleeves, which makes him appear even more threatening than he did on the day of the reaping, and Clove's dress is of a thinner fabric that clings to her like a second skin until it flares out around her ankles.

My initial thoughts are that she has received a better deal than I have. I can barely stand up in my dress as it's so heavy and awkward and besides, she actually looks attractive whereas I look like I've been involved in an explosion at a copper factory. I change my mind rapidly though. As soon as she moves towards the second chariot and it becomes apparent that the dress is so tight she can barely walk. So that is what they were arguing about. If she can't walk then how is she going to balance precariously in a tiny horse-drawn chariot for the length of time it takes to get from here to the Training Centre?

I continue to watch as her mentor has to lift her onto the chariot beside Cato. The combination of anger and humiliation that shows on her face is frightening and really doesn't do anything to subdue the fear I feel inside that is threatening to make a reappearance. As the District 2 chariot is drawn forwards by its four black horses to wait beside the white horses of District 1, I can see clearly that the only thing keeping Clove in the chariot is the strength of her grip on the front rail. I wonder if her mentor expects her to wave to the crowd?

Claudius interrupts my thoughts shortly after District 4 arrive and are ushered immediately away. He pushes me along the path to our waiting chariot. Even the horses are a bright, gleaming chestnut and I am beginning to think that one of the Gamemakers is starting to torment me before the Games even start. Alecto climbs up easily and I am determined to do the same myself, despite the dress. Now I have had it on for a while it feels like it's made of lead, and even though I make it into the chariot without obvious incident, I pull what feels like all of the muscles in my left leg and right arm pulling myself up.

Before I can even look up, Claudius and Julius are positioning us where they want us to stand, telling us what to do and, more frequently, what not to do.

"Lysandra, I know it doesn't come naturally to you to be smiley and cheerful but do try. Alecto, try not to look terrified or neither of you will get any sponsors."

I smile then, not because I was instructed to but because I find it amusing that Claudius has just said to Alecto the very thing that I was thinking but didn't feel cruel enough to say. The chariot lurches forward to our position beside District 4 and the last thing I hear is Claudius shouting after us.

"Try to win sponsors. I need one of you to win because I have a fabulous idea for a costume for the Victor's Interview!"

That says it all really. He doesn't want us to survive because he feels any fondness for us or even values our lives, but because he wants his moment in the limelight, the opportunity to dress a Hunger Games victor once again. I attempt to remove the scowl from my face until I see the girl from District 4 staring down at me, clearly trying to make me feel intimidated. I find that my fear has disappeared, for the moment at least, and I stare right back at her.

With the first six or seven districts ready to go and the rest nearly there, the parade is about to begin. Next to some of the other unfortunate tributes, I don't feel nearly as ridiculous as I did earlier and, more than anything, I just want the whole thing to be over and done with. The cruellest part of the Games so far seems to be that they tell us we are most likely going to die in the arena but then they make us wait for a week to get there. The build-up before we even get to the 'real' Games is the best bit for the people of the Capitol, however, for most of the tributes the torment they imagine in their minds the week before the arena is far worse than any torture that the Gamemakers could devise.

I turn my head to the left and I can see the others on their chariots, as impatient as I am for the ceremony to begin, although probably for very different reasons. The boy from District 1 is still staring at his female counterpart, who I hear somebody address as 'Glimmer'. Honestly, what chance has the poor girl got in life with a name like that? The parents of District 1 must really dislike their children.

Glimmer, however, is unaware of the boy's longing gaze. She only has eyes for Cato, and I think that I can see her strategy for the Games developing already. She has chosen the strongest, most formidable looking tribute and she is clearly hoping to use her looks to influence him in her favour. This is a strategy that has been used with great success in the past, especially by the female Careers and, being as beautiful as she is, I can see why she thinks it will work. What she doesn't seem to realise is that Cato is as oblivious to her as she is to the boy standing inches away from her.

I jump slightly as, without any warning, the doors of the Remake Centre are thrown wide open and the opening music, which is the same every year, begins to resonate around the Capitol. Alecto says something but I can't hear a word, even when he repeats himself. We give up trying to talk and turn to face the gates once more.

I can hear the roar of the people standing outside as they get their first glimpse of the District 1 tributes, who are traditionally great favourites with the crowd. I have always assumed that this is because the luxury goods that the district produces are so close to the hearts of the Capitol audience but the more cynical side of me, which has become more prominent over the past few days, suggests that it's simply because well-fed, attractive young men and women make a prettier picture than half-starved, petrified children.

As the first chariot leaves the Remake Centre, Glimmer looks back once more in Cato's direction, but swiftly returns her focus to the gawping crowd, who are more willing than he is to give her the attention that she obviously craves. As the second chariot surges towards the gates, I look to see how Clove is coping with the restrictions of her dress, secretly hoping that she will fall flat on her face in front of the whole nation. I am surprised to see that the anger and humiliation so visible on her face earlier have vanished without a trace. She turns to face her mentor and stylist, then gives a sarcastic little wave in their direction before facing the way the chariot is moving, blowing kisses and waving to the crowd, all thoughts of needing to keep her balance forgotten. I have no idea how she is remaining on the chariot until I look closely and see that she is very subtly leaning against Cato for support. There goes Glimmer's plan.

Then all chance of observing the other tributes disappears as our horses begin to move towards the gates. I don't feel scared. I don't really feel anything at all. It is almost like I am looking down at the parade and it is all happening to someone else in a horrible nightmare. Our chariot falls into line a short distance behind District 4, and as we pass through the gates the noise of the crowd multiplies hugely. They cheer and applaud and many of them call out for their favourite district. Some even bother to open their programmes to find out our names. Most of the attention seems to be going to 1 and 2 as usual, but as we make our way through the streets of the Capitol I hear a number of shouts of "District 5!". Maybe the 'fox-look' isn't as bad as I thought. The bright copper of my hair and dress certainly makes me stand out more than some of the others.

Suddenly the noise of the crowd behind me stops and then starts again, this time with shocked gasps rather than cheers and shouting. I try to turn around to see what has happened but I lose my balance and nearly fall from the chariot. As I right myself I see Alecto pointing up at one of the enormous television screens that line the route of the procession. Shown on the screen are a boy and a girl seemingly wreathed in flames, yet they are smiling and waving to the mass of people staring at them. They clearly don't feel any pain and there is no sign of the fire burning them. Never, not even in the labs at home, have I seen anything like it.

As I hear the shouts of "District 12!" and "Katniss!" I realise that it is the tributes of the poorest and most ridiculed district in all of Panem that have managed to make such a grand entrance. Good. That will show the Capitol and give the Gamemakers something to think about. Maybe it won't all be about the Careers this year, for the opening ceremonies at least.

The parade through the Capitol takes about twenty minutes but it all passes by in a blur. All of the tributes get their share of the spotlight, but as I watch on the television screens, it is obvious that District 12 are getting more than their fair share of screen time.

As we approach the City Circle both the backing music and the mass of people lining the pavements get even louder. These are the real fans of the Hunger Games. The people, mostly the youth of the very wealthiest Capitol families, that pay vast amounts of money to stand at the roadside just outside the City Circle, where the chariots pass by so closely that we tributes are almost within touching distance. These spoiled children have obviously read their programmes, as all of the calls are of tributes' names rather than district numbers. I hear many of them call out to me as we head towards the final stage of the Opening Ceremony.

"I'll put my money on you, Lysandra!" calls out one boy, who looks around my age.

"Lysandra, you can do it!"

This comes from a very young girl who is sitting on her father's shoulders so she has a good view. She brings the first genuine smile of the evening to my face and I wave back as enthusiastically as I can. Then the smile quickly leaves me as I hear the next knot of people shouting to me, a group of young men who look like they have had a bit too much wine.

"If I back you, will you win, Lysa? Lysa, answer me!"

We come to a halt in our final position a short distance from the Training Centre and the music abruptly stops.

"What's wrong with you?" asks Alecto.

"Nothing," I reply, but the anger I feel is plain to hear.

"Stop lying to me."

"They called me Lysa."

"So?"

"They have no right to call me that." Even as I speak I know that I'm overreacting and I can tell from his reaction that Alecto thinks so too, but I am still furious. The only people that called me by the shortened version of my name were my father and Cassie. "The Capitol have taken everything else from me. Do they have to have that too?"


	4. Chapter 4

Just a small chapter - the end of the opening ceremony. It didn't really fit in with the next bit at the Training Centre and combined the two sections would be far too long for a single chapter!

**Thank you to my wonderful reviewers - you know who you are! If you are reading then please, please let me know what you think.**

Chapter Four

The fanfare of trumpets blasts out across the City Circle as the last and most impressive tribute chariot comes to a halt directly in front of President Snow's mansion. Even in the short time that I have been here, the number of faces at the many windows of the huge buildings surrounding me have multiplied many times. These are the wealthiest people in the Capitol. The relatives of the mob that shouted to us from the road only moments before.

"Smile Lysandra, or President Snow will think you are planning his assassination."

"So. Why should I care. What is he going to do? Order my execution. Oh, no, wait, he's done that already."

I know that I am being unnecessarily horrible but I am still angry at the boy in the crowd and, if I am honest, at myself as well. Despite how hard I have tried to keep my distance from Alecto, I find myself liking him, which is the very thing I have been working so hard to avoid. I think we could have been friends if our situation had been different, but as it is not, there is no point in us getting to know each other, as it will only make it even more difficult when we finally reach the arena.

The groups of people that are currently blocking the roads and pavements leading into the City Circle suddenly begin to applaud once more, only this time with slightly more restraint. I look up at the highest of the many balconies of President Snow's mansion and get my first glimpse of the man who has the power of life and death over every citizen of Panem.

I have seen him before on the television and therefore know already that his physical appearance does not correspond with the great power he wields, but he looks even smaller and more feeble in real life. He is very thin and is clearly already twice the age that most people in District 5 expect to achieve.

As he gives his traditional welcome speech, I find that the only way to keep the fixed smile on my face from being replaced with a scowl is to focus on something else. I look up at the massive television screen that is on the front of the Training Centre and see that the camera is showing the faces of each of the tributes in turn, with considerable emphasis on District 12, who are still wreathed in flames that stand out even more now that darkness has fallen. When my face appears briefly on the screen I am relieved to see that I am not scowling. I look thoughtful, neither smiling nor frowning, which is an achievement considering how enraged President Snow's words make me feel. Even the President himself cannot be honest. Why does everyone insist that we should be honoured to be here? President Snow even seems to expect us to be happy about it and grateful for the opportunity to see the Capitol. If the positions were reversed, would they rejoice in the fact that they were most likely being sent to their deaths?

I consider whether or not it would look bad if I were to lean against the back of the chariot. The dress-nightmares-are-made-of seems to double in weight every minute and the President has been talking for what seems like all eternity. I know that Viola will kill me herself for doing it but at this precise moment in time I think it would probably be worth it.

Just as I decide that it would definitely be worth it and take a step backwards, President Snow's speech abruptly ends and, yet again, the national anthem begins. The chariot lurches forwards and we follow District 4 in the direction of the Training Centre.

As we pass through the huge and intricately carved gates, which are a relatively new addition and seem to depict scenes from the Hunger Games of past years in particularly gory detail, I look around for Marcus and Viola, expecting to see them waiting to guide us to the right part of the vast building. I don't know whether I am disappointed or not when I see no sign of them.

However, I am undeniably disappointed to see Icarus Holsworthy, closely followed by our stylists and prep teams. They are all running in our direction and I resist the urge to jump from the chariot and start running in the opposite direction as quickly as my feet will carry me. Not that I would get very far in the dress anyway.

"Now I bet that wasn't as bad as you thought it would be, was it?" says Icarus, beaming widely.

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

He replies to me but I don't hear what he says because, as he speaks, the gates are pulled shut behind District 12's chariot with a loud bang. I see Katniss' relatively normal-looking stylist helping her down from the chariot and extinguishing the flames. Why couldn't he have been my stylist? I have almost reached the point where I would quite happily make my way into the Training Centre without the dress if it meant I could be rid of it's weight.

The main part of the Training Centre building is a tower which was built to house the tributes, escorts and mentors before the Games begin. The different floors appear to be accessed by several glass lifts, and I can see many of the tributes moving towards them. I, however, am going nowhere, as Icarus is currently having a very in-depth conversation with Claudius and Julius, which appears to be about what they are going to wear to the dinner party that is being held next month to celebrate the anniversary of President Snow's inauguration.

As I watch the first tributes to reach the lifts shoot up the side of the glass tower, I lose patience with Icarus and, fed up of waiting, take a step towards the lifts myself. Alecto reaches out and grabs my wrist, only to let it go less than a second later in response to the look I give him. We may be on speaking terms but that does not give him the right to do that. He seems to realise his mistake, but to his credit he carries on with what he was going to say anyway.

"Where are you going? You know that we have to wait for him."

"Any second now I am going to collapse under the weight of this instrument of torture that Claudius laughingly calls a dress. Nobody has explicitly told us that we have to wait for Icarus and until they do, I am going to assume that we will not be immediately executed if we go to the lifts without him."

I walk as purposefully as I can towards the lifts and seconds later Alecto follows me, constantly looking over his shoulder in the direction of our escort, who is currently discussing whether purple is fashionable or not and showing no signs of being ready to leave. We reach the nearest lift and the Avox that is guarding it watches me curiously. To avoid his gaze I turn to face the other lifts and see Glimmer and the boy from District 1, accompanied by their escort, step into one of the glass boxes. They are closely followed by an exhausted looking, bespectacled boy, who I think is from District 3 but cannot quite remember. I will be very surprised if he makes it past the bloodbath at the Cornucopia.

The lift soars into the air but soon comes to a stop a short time later on what appears to be the first floor of the tower. I can see that the tributes from District 1 have left as the lights are no longer reflecting off their silver costumes. My suspicions are confirmed when the lift rises a couple more levels, and then returns to the ground floor.

"Each district has it's own floor. District 1 is on the first floor, District 2 on the second and so on to District 12. All we have to do is push the button for the fifth level."

"How do you know? We should just wait for Icarus."

Most of the tributes have gone upstairs now and the Avoxes who wait on the Capitol people are starting to reappear, pushing trolleys laden with food. Now that the ceremony is over, my appetite is returning and the sight of the food makes me want to go upstairs even more. I am certain that there will be food there and if we can get upstairs before Icarus does then I am also certain he will not notice a couple of missing apples or bread rolls. Maybe there might even be food that is meant for us. After all, they fed us well enough when we were on the train. Decision made. I walk into the lift, not really caring if Alecto follows me or not. I am unsurprised when he does.

I am about to push the button to go up to level five when another tribute walks in after us. I have enough time to recognise her as the tiny girl from District 11 before I am distracted by the sound of voices, speaking rapidly in a hushed whisper. I involuntarily take a step back when Clove steps into the lift and by the time Cato follows her, not before I see him take a carving knife from the trolley of a passing Avox, I am starting to regret my decision not to wait for Icarus.

Alecto took three steps back to my one and gives every impression that he is trying to hide behind me. Obviously bravery is not one of his virtues. Curiously, the girl from District 11 holds her ground and watches the two Careers, not moving an inch.

Cato holds the knife out in front of him and I can see that he senses our fear. I try to tell myself that the consequences are dire for attacking a fellow tribute before the Games have started and that he would not be stupid enough to take the risk, but when I see the look in his eyes I am not so sure. He exchanges a look with Clove and they both laugh.

"Are you scared, District 5?" he asks, radiating violence and aggression.

I say nothing and try to meet his eyes. Alecto takes another step back and I hear him walk right into the glass wall of the lift. Once again, the girl from District 11 doesn't move, and Cato doesn't even seem to have registered her presence. He stares at me until I am forced to look down at the floor, then he turns to face Clove once more.

"I'm sick to death of your whining," he says, holding the handle of the knife out to her, most of the aggression gone from his voice.

Clove smiles and takes the knife. My eyes never leave her for a second as I prepare to try to evade her attack. I almost laugh as she reaches down to the hem of her dress and draws the knife up through the fine fabric. When the split in the material reaches her mid-thigh and she is satisfied that she can walk unimpeded, she hands the knife back to Cato and then presses the lift button for Level 2.

As the lift doors close and we begin to rise upwards I turn to look at Alecto. He is staring resolutely at the floor, as is the girl from District 11. I don't know how she got separated from her prep team but the way that she is working things out for herself impresses me. Despite her youth and diminutive size, she was considerably braver than Alecto when faced with the two Careers, on the outside at least.

The lift comes to a sudden halt and a bell rings once as the doors open. Cato and Clove leave without another word and as the doors close once more, the three of us visibly relax. I am tempted to point out to Alecto that he won't be able to hide behind me in the arena but decide that I haven't got the energy for another argument.

The lift stops once more and I step out into a narrow, white corridor that is completely bare except for a single door. When I push it open I find myself in a huge sitting room that is full of armchairs surrounding a television screen, just like on the train but on a larger scale. I am about to flop down into one of the chairs when one of the other doors to the sitting room is thrown open and Marcus and Viola appear. Marcus smiles as he walks towards me.

"It's over now. You both coped very well."

"Where is Icarus?" asks Viola.

"Still downstairs, I think," I say. "The last time I saw him, he was exchanging fashion tips with Claudius and Julius."

"You should have waited for him. Tributes cannot wander about wherever they please. You could have ended up anywhere. You could have got hurt."

"And the Capitol wouldn't want that yet, would they. Not without the cameras rolling."

"Just go to bed, Lysandra."

"We were going to watch the replay of the Opening Ceremony. I am sure we can do that without arguing, can't we?" Marcus interrupts, looking at me.

I nod in response. I don't want to watch the replay, living through is more than enough for me, but I also don't want to miss anything. If they start talking strategy then I want to be there.

"I won't argue as long as I have time to take this awful dress off first."

"I will show you to your quarters. Follow me. Both of you," he says, looking behind me to Alecto.

The room I am shown to is even more impressive than the cabin I slept in on the train, with a four-poster bed and a matching dressing table with an enormous mirror. I walk over to the dressing table and stare at my reflection. It is still a shock to see the painted and stencilled person that looks back at me. What I want more than anything is to have a shower so that I can wash the whole day away, then curl up in bed and hope that I dream of a life where this isn't happening. However this is not an option so I settle for washing some of the make up from my face before attempting to rid myself of the instrument of torture.

I try to lift the dress over my head but am forced to give up when I realise that it is simply too tight and the material not stretchy enough. Am I doomed to wear this dress forever? I am certainly not going back to the sitting room to ask for Viola's help.

I try every way that I can think of to take off the dress but nothing works. I get increasingly frustrated and eventually throw myself onto the bed and punch one of the pillows in exasperation. The knock at the door is the final straw. It is probably Viola coming to tell me off again.

"What is it now?" I shout.

The door opens but it isn't Viola. It is a dark-haired Avox girl, who I vaguely recognise as being one of the ones who waited on us when we were travelling here. She puts the pile of clothes she is carrying onto the bed beside me and gestures for me to sit up.

I don't know why I obey her but I do, and she helps me lift the dress over my head, then passes me a pair of trousers and a blue leaf-patterned tunic. I get dressed and then turn to face the Avox girl. I am surprised when she holds out her hand to me to reveal the engraved copper square I had brought with me from District 5. Seeing it again brings back memories of my father and of Cassie. That, together with the stress of the Opening Ceremony and everything that has happened, combine and cause me to break down in tears for the second time in as many days. Furious with myself, I try to hold in my emotions, which I achieve only for the time it takes me to ask the Avox to leave, which she rapidly does. I lie back down on the bed and cry myself to sleep, all thoughts of going back to the sitting room forgotten. The last thing I remember hearing before falling into the oblivion of sleep is Viola and Icarus calling for me and hammering on the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

I sit up straight after waking and immediately lie back down again. My head hurts and it feels like the whole room is spinning. I begin to wonder why and then I remember. My argument with Viola, the Avox girl returning the square of copper that I still have gripped tightly in my hand and finally my tears. I already hate what the Hunger Games is doing to me. Never before have I had so much trouble restraining my emotions and here I am, constantly childishly sniping at one of my mentors and breaking down in floods of tears in front of an Avox.

So many thoughts are zooming around in my head that I know I won't be going back to sleep. I attempt to sit up again and am relieved to find that even though my headache is still there, the room is no longer spinning. But I can't stay in this room. Despite its vast size, it's dark and feels claustrophobic. I hope I haven't been locked in but I wouldn't be surprised if I was.

I walk over and try the door. To my relief it's unlocked, so I make my way back down the corridor to the sitting room. The hunger I had felt earlier and then for obvious reasons forgotten has returned and I decide that if there is going to be food anywhere it will be where my mentors and escort had been sitting last.

It's not much but I can see a couple of bread rolls in a basket on one of the tables, so I walk in that direction. However before I get to them, my attention is taken by a strange looking machine on one of the other tables. There are mugs lined up next to it and on closer inspection, it appears to be some kind of drink dispenser. It has many buttons, not all of them labelled and I've never seen anything like it in my life. In District 5, hot drinks are made by servants not machines and they are not served to the likes of me.

Feeling brave, I push one of the buttons and abruptly jump back when a stream of sweet-smelling, boiling hot liquid is released from one of the taps. It falls through the grate at the bottom and I mentally swear at myself for not having the intelligence to put one of the mugs underneath. I take a mug and position it carefully under the tap before pressing the button for the second time. I'm rewarded with a mug full of the strange drink, and I carefully carry it in the direction of one of the chairs, picking up the bread basket on the way and feeling slightly better about myself now I've successfully defeated one of the alien Capitol contraptions.

As I sit eating the rolls and drinking the drink, which is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted, my thoughts turn to the first day of training. In a few short hours I will be face to face with the other tributes and this time there will be no mentors, no stylists, no fancy clothes and Capitol audience, just us getting ready to fight to the death. I haven't had chance to think about what my strategy will be since the evening on the train when we watched the other reapings and that's what scares me most. I'm sure that to enter the arena without some sort of plan will mean certain death. After all, it's not like I can rely on my strength and skill with weapons to save me.

I spend the next couple of hours weighing up the benefits and drawbacks of every possible plan I can think of, and in the end I come to the same conclusion that I did before, only this time with a few modifications. I know this is something I should discuss with my mentors, but really I have made my decision already. This is the Hunger Games. I must trust only myself.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing I hear is Marcus' voice.

"Lysandra. Lysandra, wake up. What are you doing down here?"

"I couldn't sleep. I was hungry."

"I'm not surprised. What happened last night?"

"Nothing. It'd just been a long day, that's all."

He doesn't look convinced but, to my relief, questions me no further. However he does look to the table beside me and see the remains of the rolls and several empty mugs.

"You were obviously awake for a while. What have you been thinking about?"

I wish he wouldn't do this. I wish he was cold like Viola or just plain stupid and oblivious like Icarus, but he always insists on being nice, on trying to be my friend. Can't he see that being this way only makes it harder in the end?

"The arena. I can't go in there without a strategy." I reply, keeping my answer as short as possible, half of me hoping that he will go away and the other half hoping that he will stay.

"We are supposed to discuss that between us. An intelligent girl like yourself shouldn't have failed to understand the idea of tributes having mentors."

"I can make my own decisions." I say, smiling slightly at him in apology for my attitude.

"And what's your plan?"

"I'm forming an alliance with Glimmer. We're going to spend the entire duration of the Games sitting in the Cornucopia swapping make up tips." I say sarcastically.

"You don't have to keep up the front with me, Lysa."

"Don't call me that. And yes, I do. This front, this mask I wear, is the only thing keeping me sane. If I drop it, even for a second, then I won't be able to think straight and then I'll definitely end up dead on day one."

He nods, and I see respect in his eyes that wasn't there before. "I understand, but I might be able to help you. If you don't give me the chance then you will never know."

"I thought we were all going to discuss this together at breakfast?"

"We will. Providing that you and Viola can stop sniping at each other for long enough to have a civilised conversation."

I laugh. "I suppose she wants me to be a good little tribute and do as she tells me."

"Of course," he replies. "And what do you think she will tell you to do?"

"Go to training and try to learn as much as I can," I answer. "I imagine she wants me to have a go at everything in the hope that I might have a hidden talent for something like knife throwing."

I can tell by his expression that he doesn't know if I'm being serious or not and I'm relieved. I will have to hide my emotions as much as possible when training starts in a few hours so I might as well work on it now.

"I don't think Viola expects that much. Icarus might though. He still thinks you're hiding something."

"Good. That's what I want everyone to think. If I go into the Training Centre and start trying to throw spears and fight people with swords then all of the other tributes will know for certain that I've never had any training with weapons. I know a bit about plants and lighting fires and things from working in the labs but I need to know more. If I can learn as much about surviving in the arena as possible then I will stand a better chance."

"How will that help you? If you do that and then get a mediocre score at the end of training, the others will know that you can't use weapons but got your score because of your newfound survival skills."

"Not if I fail all of the survival skills tests and deliberately look like I can't tell the difference between blackberries and nightlock. If they think I'm too stupid to get my score from my knowledge they will start to think it must be from weapons. They will think I showed the Gamemakers something I didn't show them in training. If just one of the Careers falls for it then I stand a better chance of surviving the Cornucopia at least. They go after the easiest prey first. You were a tribute, Marcus, you understand how the Games work. And you know the mentors will be watching the opposition to their tributes as closely as they can."

"Actually it's not a bad plan. You are right about needing to focus on survival skills. You could never learn to fight in less than three days. Not well enough to defeat even one of the Careers, and they will certainly band together at the beginning."

I know all of this already, but it feels good to talk about it. I was right, I do feel a bit better now I have at least part of a plan.

The morning light is starting to shine through the windows so I get up to look out. The magnificent buildings of the Capitol stretch out into the distance and, despite my hatred for everything in the place and everything it stands for, I can't help thinking how beautiful it looks. I gaze out for a few minutes then take a deep breath and turn back to face Marcus. He's staring intently at me with his head slightly tilted to one side.

"What?"

"I was just thinking that you're going to have to hurry up. You only have a couple of hours to practice."

"Practise what?"

"Dealing with the massive blow to your pride that will result from you having to fail these tests. You might want to work on a convincing vacant expression too. Failing the tests is not enough. You have to look thoroughly confused for the entire duration of the three days for your plan to work."

"I don't know whether to be flattered that you think me incapable of looking vacant or hurt that you think my ego is so over-inflated."

* * *

After I leave the sitting room I return to my quarters to have a shower and change my clothes. I'm quickly horrified by the number of buttons on the ridiculously complicated thing that obviously passes for a shower here, but persevere with it. I can't very well turn up at the Training Centre with the remains of my copper stencils clearly visible on my arms.

A short time later I emerge from the bathroom, smelling strongly of a combination of lemons, roses and some other sweet perfume I can't identify. I get dressed and make my way back to the sitting room, where I find Alecto, Icarus and both mentors tucking into a huge breakfast. I hadn't realised I'd been battling with the shower for that long.

"Good morning, Lysandra. Are you ready for training?" says Icarus, way too cheerfully for my liking.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"You missed our strategy discussion last night."

"I'm sure you're about to enlighten me now though."

Just as I predicted, Viola proceeds to tell me how I should attempt everything, not be afraid to ask questions and pretend the other tributes aren't there. Honestly, I have no idea how the woman ever had the wits to win in the arena. How can not knowing and therefore not understanding your opponents possibly help you? However I nod and agree quietly, saying nothing and carefully ignoring Marcus' knowing smile. Viola's stunned expression shows that she had prepared for a battle and is shocked that she doesn't have to face one. She quickly moves on to nagging Alecto before I can change my mind.

Icarus rises from his chair and narrows his eyes at us. "Training begins at ten o'clock sharp. One hour from now. Don't be late."

I thought he was supposed to be escorting us to the training room. That's what Marcus told me, and I'm certain I don't know how to get there myself. Maybe he has a hair appointment. My mentors are obviously thinking the same as I am, and unusually it's Viola who says what we are all thinking.

"It is tradition for the escort to direct the tributes to the training room."

"They found their way up here well enough last night, I'm sure they can find their way down just as easily," he replies, glaring at me.

I have never had much respect for Icarus, but what little I did have has well and truly vanished. These Capitol people are like small children who sulk when they don't get their way. So what if I didn't want to wait for him to finish discussing the latest hideous fashions and hair colours. It is me who is likely to be dead in less than a week, not him.

"Which floor do we have to go to then?"

"Just get in the lift and go all the way to the bottom. The lifts open directly into the gymnasium."

"Fine."

I get up and leave the room, rushing down the corridor as quickly as I can. I have had quite enough of other people for a while.

As I open the door to my room I hear that Alecto has left too, so I quickly walk through the doorway and close the door behind me in case he wants to talk. I don't know what to do now. I am tempted to have another shower, but decide that another battle with it will only make me feel worse. I move to the dressing table and sit in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. I try to change my expression but my attempts at vacant are laughable and probably wouldn't even convince somebody as stupid as Icarus. Two seconds later I give up and collapse onto the bed.

In what seems like a second later I hear pounding on the door. This seems to be becoming a theme that I really don't like. I can't sleep when I am supposed to sleep and fall asleep when I should be awake. Hopefully this trend will not continue in the arena.

"Lysandra! Lysandra, what are you doing? It's quarter to ten!"

The panic in Alecto's voice is almost comical. How long does he think it will take us to get downstairs? Hasn't he realised by now that they can't start without us? Why do we have to go together anyway? I hope that he doesn't think we will be working together in the arena. I like him and wish that he could live to see his family again, but I have the feeling that forming an alliance with Alecto would be one of the quickest ways of getting myself killed.

"I'm ready now," I reply, getting to my feet and opening the door. He looks genuinely petrified. "Remember what I said to you before the Opening Ceremony."

His face loses some of it's visible emotion so I smile slightly and walk to the lift. It's there waiting for us, and as we zoom towards the training room I try to stay calm. I keep telling myself that if I panic then all of my planning will be for nothing. Cassie would want me to give myself every chance and the thought of her watching me die on a television screen keeps me going.

The lift doors slide open and Alecto and I walk out into the biggest room I've ever seen. It has wooden panelled walls and seems to be full of individual stations devoted to every variety of weapon that I can think of, plus more than a few that I've never seen before. There are also tables covered with plants and berries and even one that has on it what looks like camouflage paint. Now that could be a useful skill to learn.

Yet again, we appear to be early. A lot of the tributes are already here, milling around by the lifts as if they are all too scared to venture deeper into the room. I can see no sign of the Capitol people but I'm sure they are there watching. They have cameras everywhere.

The Career Tributes from District 4 arrive by one of the other lifts and immediately try to intimidate some of the others. It is then that I notice the girl from District 11 again, standing next to her district's male tribute, who once again gives every impression that he wants to protect her rather than kill her. The Careers soon decide there are easier targets elsewhere and move on.

Suddenly I'm pushed roughly forwards. I struggle to keep on my feet, but once I have regained my balance I whip around to face whoever it is who pushed me. I look up into Cato's cold blue eyes and inwardly groan. Why does it always have to be him?

"You always seem to be in my way, District 5." He's enjoying this, I can tell.

"You could have just said 'excuse me'."

"Do you want to be on my Kill List when we get in the arena?"

"Aren't all of the other tributes on your Kill List, Cato? This is the Hunger Games, after all."

Inside I am almost screaming with fear. I know the sensible thing to do would be to walk away, but I want to see how much you have to push him to make him lose his temper. I get the impression that it would be easier to trick a Cato driven mad with rage into doing something stupid than a Cato who is calm and thinking clearly.

Apparently it doesn't take much to make him lose it, as when he moves towards me I can tell that he's mentally in the arena already. I back up along the wall, but am forced to stop a few strides later when I meet one of the tables.

He's only about a metre away from me when we both stop dead. Embedded in the wood panelling at my eye level and exactly equidistant between us is a vicious looking knife. Both Cato and I turn away from each other to face the other tributes, who have all gathered around us. At the front of the group is Clove, her arm raised, showing it was she who threw the knife that could easily have killed me. She looks at Cato.

"She's not worth it. Save it for the arena."

I wait for the explosion to come, for him to face her with the same rage I saw, but part of me realises that he won't. Therefore I'm not surprised when he pulls the knife from the wall and hands it to her in a strange mirror image of what had happened in the lift after the parade.

"What is going on? Come back over here now."

The Capitol people have obviously arrived. I breathe a sigh of relief as I go over to them to have my district number pinned to the back of my tunic.

After my confrontation with Cato, the atmosphere in the room has become even more charged. All of the tributes stand in a circle by the lift doors, hardly moving and not daring to speak. As I look around I notice that there are only twenty-one other tributes. Unsurprisingly it's District 12 who are missing. They always seem to be late for everything.

A short time later the lift bell rings once more and the two remaining tributes step into the gym. As they move towards us to have their numbers pinned to their matching burgundy tunics, I watch them carefully. It is strange that they are dressed alike and I suspect it was not their decision to do so. Somebody in the District 12 team obviously has a plan, but I cannot begin to guess what it is. Even the strongest arena alliance has to end eventually.

They had been the only pair of tributes to hold hands at the Opening Ceremony, in fact they were probably the only pair of tributes to hold hands at the Opening Ceremony ever, and even now, the boy whose name is still unknown to me seems reluctant to leave Katniss' side. Katniss, better known by the Capitol reporters as the Girl Who Was On Fire, doesn't seem to show the same enthusiasm for him. Yes, I can believe that she likes him, but when he looks at her I see something entirely different in his eyes, something that she seems oblivious to.

Now we're all here, it's time for training to begin. The head trainer, a formidable-looking woman by the name of Atala, explains what will happen and what rules we have to follow, which is mostly what Marcus went through with me this morning. Two and a half days of rotating around the different training stations, followed by the opportunity to give a private demonstration of our abilities to the Gamemakers. From what they see, the Gamemakers will then give us a score out of twelve, which will then be used by the people betting on the Games to decide where best to put their money. She also adds in a stern voice that fighting with another tribute is strictly forbidden and that there will be assistants present if we wish to practice. The Careers look unsurprised by this but disappointed nevertheless.

When Atala indicates that we can start, I look around the room, trying to find a station I can go to where I will be able to learn something useful but at the same time can still see what the others are doing. I decide to go for edible plants, as there are tributes already there and therefore it should be relatively easy for me to blend into the background.

While the trainer goes over the basics, which I know from my lab work already, I observe the others closely. Katniss and the tall blond boy, who I hear her call Peeta, are still together at the knot-tying station. They appear to be trying to blend into the background too, but as I watch her I see there is something that makes Katniss different to most of the other tributes. She is only small, just a little bit taller and heavier than me, but there is something about the way she carries herself, something about the way she walks that tells me there is more to her than meets the eye. I will have to watch her closely when the Games start for real.

The Careers behave as I would expect, immediately heading for the most threatening, difficult to use weapons that they can get their hands on, clearly hoping to intimidate the rest of us. For the short time I'm focussing on them I see Cato fighting aggressively against three of the assistants, the boy from District 1 throwing spears straight through the necks of the straw dummies that are there for us to practice on, and Clove rapidly throwing knives at the targets that have been set up at one end of the gymnasium. She never misses and looks positively bored. Just before I turn away, I see the boy with the crippled foot from District 10 accidentally throw a small rubber ball across the front of the knife targets. It never hits the floor though, as Clove's knife spears it to the wall.

Turning my attention back to edible plants after deciding that watching the Careers is not a sensible idea, I find that the trainer has moved on to instructing us how to identify what is toxic and what is not. As I thought, there seems to be no logic or pattern to follow and the best thing to do seems to be to learn to recognise as many of the plants as possible and then to hope that those plants have been put in the arena. Some of them will be, I'm sure. Otherwise they would be wasting their time using them in the demonstration, and as much as I hate the Capitol, I have to concede that whatever it does, it does for a reason, however sick and twisted that reason might be.

I'm always watching the other tributes, but as I try to focus on the words of the edible plants trainer, I sense that somebody is watching me. As I look searchingly around the gymnasium, I can see that all of the others are busy training and not paying me the slightest bit of notice. Despite this, I cannot shake the feeling.

Then I look up into the stands that surround the enormous training room, and see that seats which were previously unoccupied are now taken up by two rows of men and women, all dressed in identical purple robes. The Gamemakers have arrived.

They are less outrageous in appearance than most of the Capitol people I have seen so far, but then I imagine that is to be expected when most of the people I've seen up close are either stylists or part of the prep teams. I don't know what I was expecting them to look like. I suppose I had conjured images of creatures from nightmares in my mind that somehow seemed appropriate for the people who could end my life with the push of a button in the Control Room. A part of me is disappointed by how ordinary they are.

The more I watch them the more they seem to stare at me, although that's probably my imagination working overtime. Some of them get up and walk down the stairs, trying to get a closer view of our training, constantly making notes on their clipboards. Twenty-four Gamemakers for twenty-four tributes. How symmetrical. How typical of the Capitol. I turn away and force myself to ignore them.

As the morning progresses, I make my way to shelter-building, fire-lighting and, on impulse, I attempt climbing the ceiling height wall that has been set up in the corner of the gym. It's possible there will be trees in the arena and they make excellent hiding places.

To my surprise and relief, my attempt at wall-climbing is considerably more successful than I thought it would be. I race to the top, touch the ceiling and as I climb back down, the trainer informs me that only two other tributes have beaten my time. I ask him which ones, but although he looks quickly in the direction of the girl from District 11, he says nothing.

Just as I leave the climbing wall and decide to try camouflage, a whistle sounds. Atala calls us over to her and informs us that food will be served in the dining room next door. I had expected to be able go back to our floor of the tower for lunch and am disappointed that I'm to be denied the hour to myself I had been so looking forward to.

The dining room is much smaller than the gymnasium. There are about ten small tables in the middle, with food set out on longer tables around the outside. It reminds me of the Banquet Hall back in District 5, and the memory makes me smile. I doubt that I would find taking food from a table in the Capitol as easy as I did at home.

Most of the tributes, myself included, try to sit as far apart as possible. I almost go to sit with Alecto, simply so that I'm not alone, but once more I stop myself from doing anything that could cause us to become friends. There are no friends in the arena.

The Careers are the only ones who gather in a group around one table. As it's almost tradition for them to band together in the early stages of the Games so they can hunt down the weaker tributes before turning on each other, it's no great shock. They move around the outside tables, picking up whole baskets of fruit and carrying them over to their table so that nobody else can get them. Another way of intimidating the rest of us.

I watch as the girl from District 4 literally takes an apple out of the hands of another girl, who I think is from District 7. The girl doesn't protest. She doesn't even move. She just sits there trying not to cry. I can see her bottom lip quivering from here and am disgusted by her lack of reaction, by her lack of spirit. Surely she can see that the Careers cannot touch her in full view of the Gamemakers?

The tall, dark haired boy from District 1 moves to take the bowl of oranges that sits on the table next to the girl from District 11, but before he gets to it the male tribute from 11, Thresh, I think his name is, moves it out of his reach. District 1 walks quietly back to the other Careers, clearly too intimidated to persist and not wanting his fellows to notice. Thresh tips the five oranges onto the table and pushes three of them towards the girl. She takes them with a slight smile but says nothing. I notice that although he doesn't sit at the same table as her, he is careful to put himself between her and the Careers.

I sit quietly in a corner, strangely like I used to in the dining hall back home, and eat a plate of rice and stew followed by some fruit, which I managed to get hold of before the Careers thought to take it all. The morning has gone rather well apart from the Cato incident, and even that has been useful if a little terrifying. I'm more intimidated by Clove's knife throwing than anything else.

This afternoon there is a test for all of the tributes who've been to the edible plants station, and I am both confident that I have remembered most of what the trainer said and that I will be able to get most of the questions wrong without confusing myself. If I say that everything I know to be poisonous is edible and the other way around then I should be fine.

My thoughts are interrupted by laughter. The only sound I've heard other than from the Careers since we arrived in the dining room. I turn to face the source of the sound, which is the last thing I expected to hear in a place like this, and see Katniss and Peeta. They almost convince me that their laughter is genuine but not quite. I'm now certain that they are up to something, and even if they're not then their mentors definitely are. Whether they are part of the plan or not I am unsure.

A short time later, Atala enters the dining room and announces that it's time to return to training. Now that the morning is over with and I know what to expect, the nervousness that I felt has all but vanished and I feel ready to face the gymnasium again. I get up and follow the last tribute, the boy from District 3, who looks no less stressed and exhausted than he did last night, through the door that separates the rooms.

I attempt the camouflage station first but soon realise that painting my skin with a combination of mud and berry juice in order to conceal my whereabouts is, unlike wall-climbing, not one of my hidden talents. Despite numerous attempts at different patterns, I am unable to produce anything that would hide me from the sight of even the stupidest of tributes. As I catch sight of my reflection in the huge mirror that makes up an entire wall of the gymnasium, I soon come to the realisation that even if I was the most talented tribute in the history of the Hunger Games at camouflage and disguise, all of it would be for nothing unless I coated my vivid red hair in the mud too. The thought of wandering around the arena with my hair plastered to my head covered in mud is enough to put me off this particular station, so I move to the next one without concentrating on where I'm going.

It's typical of my luck. The next station is spear throwing and the trainer, who until my arrival had had no students this afternoon, is walking eagerly towards me. I desperately try to think of a way to move on without compromising my plan, knowing that if I walk away and somebody is watching then it will look suspicious. If he sees me then Alecto will know for sure that I'm working to a different plan to the one Viola suggested of 'having a go at everything'.

However, from what I can see, the others aren't watching me. They are far too preoccupied with their own training. My eyes travel from station to station, just to make sure, and I see the boy from District 9 and the girl from 8 competing with each other at knife throwing. The only problem they have is that they are competing to be the first one to actually hit one of the targets. The part of me that can still see them as the defenceless children they really are is grateful they have not noticed the predatory looks on the faces of the watching Careers.

As the over-enthusiastic trainer has reached me and is refusing to take no for an answer, I decide that the best way out of this is to have a go at throwing the spear that he has given me. I stand a short distance away from the nearest straw dummy and allow the trainer to alter my grip on the weapon. I draw my arm back, then bring it forward, releasing the spear and hoping that I don't accidentally kill one of the Gamemakers.

To my great astonishment, the spear actually hits the target before falling harmlessly to the floor.

"You have a good aim," says the trainer, "just not enough strength."

"I'm not exactly given the opportunity to make myself big and strong in District 5," I reply, before quickly deciding my comment is a bit too rebellious and moving swiftly on.

Now that training is part of the way through, I am starting to dread the interview. How am I possibly going to get through a televised three minute interrogation without saying something that the Capitol will take a dislike to? More importantly, how am I going to survive another experience with Claudius and the prep team? I'm sure that he is creating another instrument of torture for me to wear right now.

* * *

The edible plants test goes well enough, or should I say badly enough, and soon after it ends, Atala blows a whistle to signal the end of training for today. I get back into one of the lifts with only Alecto for company and we are soon shooting back up to level 5. We stand in silence and I gaze blankly at the lift buttons until I suddenly register something that I hadn't noticed before.

"I didn't know there's access onto the roof. Do you think tributes can get up there?"

"I doubt it," replies Alecto, visibly shuddering at the thought of going anywhere in the building without permission.

The lift bell rings and the doors open. As we step out into the familiar white corridor I say nothing else. I think I might fancy some fresh air tonight and don't want to tell Alecto in case he tells Viola and I end up locked in my room.

"How did training go?" calls Marcus from the dining room as we make our way past the sitting room armchairs. "Dinner's ready."

Good, I'm starving.

"It was fine. Everything went to plan," I reply. I can tell from the smile I get in response that he understood my meaning.

Alecto looks at me with a confused expression on his face. I try to ignore him by asking Marcus where Viola is, but he refuses to be distracted.

"I thought you'd know more about which plants are toxic from working in the labs. Your score in the test was one of the lowest."

"I obviously don't then," I say, trying to avoid discussing the subject. "There's always tomorrow to learn."

He starts to say something else but fortunately he's interrupted by the loud arrival of Viola and Icarus, who, to my horror, are accompanied by Claudius and Julius. Great. Now I will have to endure an evening of hair styles, clothing fashions and pointless gossip about complete strangers. Still, at least there will not be much discussion about what happened in training.

* * *

More than three hours later, I stumble gratefully out of the dining room. They're still in there talking, but, after running out of theories as to how I could arrange the most painful deaths possible for Julius and Icarus just to put an end to their inane chatter, I finally excused myself, pleading tiredness from a strenuous day of training. I'm still recovering from the shock of being asked by Icarus if I had heard anything about the rumoured breakdown of the relationship between the two District 12 stylists, Cinna and Portia. Considering that it's highly likely I only have four days left to live, does he really think I care? He probably doesn't now, as I don't think my sarcastic suggestion of asking Katniss if she knows anything when we get to the arena so that the cameras can film her reply went down very well.

With a quick glance in each direction to check that I'm not being watched, I slip through the door leading out of our quarters and creep down the corridor to the lift. I walk in and push the button that has 'roof' written above it in elaborate gold letters. Not even the lift buttons are plain in the Capitol.

It only takes a minute and then the doors slide open into a small room with a dome-shaped roof. I rapidly cross to the door. As I feel the fresh air on my face, I wait for the Capitol people to swoop down on me, my heart racing.

After a few seconds of a still silence, I begin to relax. Standing by the chest-height railing that surrounds the roof space, I can look out over the whole Capitol. The electricity never fails here and all of the buildings shine brightly in the darkness of the night. I look down towards the distant ground and can just about make out hordes of people walking along the streets around the Training Centre. How strange it must be, to have nothing else to do but go out to parties with friends, to not be so tired by the end of the day that you fall into bed as soon as darkness falls.

There's a nagging voice at the back of my mind and it's been there since I first noticed the lifts come up here. It tells me it would be very simple to avoid the arena. All I have to do is climb up over the railing and jump off the other side. My death would be quick and, I imagine, relatively painless. At least it wouldn't be broadcasted to the whole nation. At least Cassie wouldn't have to watch me die. But it couldn't be that easy, could it? Probably not, or tributes would have done it before. I reach down and pick up a small stone. I throw it out over the railing and am not surprised when it is thrown back at me with a bright flash of light. The Capitol thinks of everything.

Not wanting to risk the chance of once more being confronted with my so-called support team, I decide to stay up here for a bit longer before going back. I walk across to the other side of the dome and find something very unexpected. They have built what appears to be a garden, with lots of plants and small trees, all in pots. There are wind chimes tied to the trees and the ethereal tinkling sound they make is a pleasant change from the usual over-the-top raucous noise of the Capitol.

I'm about to go further into the garden when I see a large figure sitting on the floor, leaning against one of the bigger pots. My heart begins to race again and I slowly step back as quietly as I can, not even daring to breathe. It's too dark to distinguish anything but the person's outline and the first person I think of is Cato. The last thing I need is to end up alone on the roof of the Training Centre with him. I suspect the end result of that particular confrontation would probably involve me finding out exactly how high the Capitol's electric field around the building really is.

As I creep backwards, my foot accidentally leaves the paving and lands on the surrounding gravel, making a loud crunching sound. I'm sure I'm not hidden by the shadows like he is and that he will see me immediately. I'm not at all surprised when his head turns to face me but I am surprised by the voice I hear.

"You don't have to slink away, I can't try to kill you 'til the Games start."

The voice isn't cultured enough to be Cato's, and the only other tribute as tall and powerfully built is Thresh from District 11. What's he doing up here at this time of night? I suppose he could ask the same thing of me.

"Do you want to try to kill me?" I say, walking into the garden, being careful to maintain a safe distance.

"Want don't come into it," he replies.

We stand at opposite ends of the tiny garden for several minutes in silence. I have no idea what to say to him and, from what I've seen, he is a man of few words anyway.

"Why are you up here?" I ask eventually.

"It's the only thing I've found in this awful place that reminds me of home. I didn't want this. I can't kill anybody. This was my last year in the reaping. I thought I'd made it."

A few short sentences, but I get the impression that was quite a speech for Thresh. I still don't know what to say. I wish I'd never come up here. Even if by some miracle I find myself in the position to end this man's life, now that I have had what will have to pass for a conversation with him, I'm not sure that I could.

"I saw what you did for the young girl in the dining room."

"Her name's Rue," he says. "She shouldn't be here. She's still a child."

"I don't think you'll be the one to kill her."

He stands up in response and takes a couple of long strides towards me. When he stops he is still a fair distance away, but he's close enough to remind me of the fact that he's nearly two feet taller than me and at least four times my weight. I suppose that was his intention.

"Don't think that because I'm soft on the little girl I won't kill in the arena," he says in a low voice.

"I didn't say you wouldn't kill, I said you wouldn't kill her."

"You're up to something, fox-girl. The girl I'm speaking to isn't the person who was at training."

He's cleverer than I thought. "We're all up to something, Thresh. Everybody wants to live."

He inclines his head to me slightly and walks away towards the dome. Just before he disappears from my sight, he turns back.

"I won't hunt you down, fox-girl, you have my word. But if we meet, I'll have no choice."

I nod in reply and return to my position looking out over the railing at the Capitol. I could kill Claudius. Him and his copper dress. I might as well have had the ears and tail because if Thresh knows me only as 'fox-girl' then that must be the lasting impression I have made.

The bell ring as the lift takes him away. I don't hate him. I don't even hate the Careers. The Capitol has made them what they are. It's the Capitol that causes all of this pain and suffering and then has the nerve to call it entertainment. It's the Capitol that I truly despise.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

It's lunchtime on the third day of training, and one by one, in district order, we are being called out of the dining room into the gymnasium. I know that behind the double doors I'm currently facing, wait the Gamemakers, ready to give us all marks out of twelve based on how likely they think it is that we'll survive. All for betting purposes, of course. So far, the first four tributes have disappeared through the doors but none have returned. As I watch, the small boy from District 3 walks timidly into the gym, the door held open by one of the many Avoxes. Only him and four more tributes then it will be my turn.

Yesterday was much the same as the day before. More moving from station to station, keeping up my pretence of learning and remembering nothing, failing every test, when really I was desperately trying to cling to every fragment of knowledge I could. This morning had also followed the same pattern, the only difference being that the prospect of the afternoon's private demonstrations seemed to be getting to many of the tributes, and everyone's temper seemed to be shorter. The trainers and assistants had to work twice as hard to prevent fights from breaking out between tributes, especially between Cato and the boy from District 4, who, most unusually for Careers at this stage of the Games, appeared to have fallen out about something so major that the usual pretence of friendship couldn't be maintained.

It feels like time has come to a complete standstill, but before I know it Alecto's name is called. He stands up from his seat opposite me and moves towards the doors.

"Good luck," I whisper.

He doesn't respond but I know he heard me from the way he hesitates slightly before leaving the room. I don't know why I said it. Maybe my nerves are clouding my mind. As I have had to do several times these past couple of days, I take a deep breath and focus on the plan.

The other tributes are arranged similarly to how they sat at lunch on the previous two days, as far away from each other as they can manage to be in such a confined space. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Once again, the only exceptions are Katniss and Peeta, who sit beside each other on a table in the middle of the room. They are talking quietly but I can't hear what they're saying.

The assistant standing by the door clears his throat. "Lysandra Newton!" he calls.

"Redwood," I mutter under my breath. You would think that if they are going to condemn me to death then they could at least allow me to die with my real name. I rise and slowly walk over to the assistant. He gestures towards the door, which is once again being held open by the same Avox.

The stands are directly opposite the door, and as I enter the gymnasium I'm confronted with the sight of all twenty-four Gamemakers. They're making a lot more noise than they did during training and not one of them looks up or even acknowledges my arrival. Some are writing frantically on their clipboards, but most seem more preoccupied with something going on directly behind where they are sitting. I watch for a couple of seconds and soon see about half a dozen Avoxes, all carrying trays laden with food. It's good to have an understanding of their priorities. The only two who are not focussed on either food or clipboards are two men, one young and the other old. They are the only two who are standing up, and they appear to be having a heated discussion about whether a particular tribute should receive a ten or an eleven. As they say 'she' I assume they mean Clove.

I stand in the middle of the huge room until the younger one of the arguing Gamemakers finally looks up and indicates that I can continue. I start by arranging the table of plants and berries, dividing them into toxic and edible sections before moving on and lighting a small fire. All of the stations are carefully laid out, and I can see assistants waiting in the shadows, presumably to prevent tributes from burning the building down, whether accidentally or on purpose. I, however, decide against attempting to destroy the Training Centre, and light a small but perfectly respectable fire with the materials provided.

The next thing that attracts my attention is a row of spears. As I wasn't a complete disaster at this station in training, I consider throwing in front of the Gamemakers but I immediately decide against it. My plan to fool the tributes into thinking I'm hiding something seems to have worked so far and I can see no reason why it wouldn't convince the Gamemakers too. The chances of them remembering my single attempt at spear throwing in training are relatively small, so if I don't use weapons and even one of them thinks I might be trying to appear weaker than I really am, that could be enough to elevate my score by a point or two. That's what I want. An average score. Not so high that I'm seen as a significant threat and not so low that I'm seen as an easy target.

As I move on to the next station, which appears to be shelter building, I look up and see that none of the Gamemakers are even looking in this direction. I might as well not be here. How dare they? I am fighting for my life here, the least they could do is notice. If I were to walk out of the room right now, I wonder how long it would take for them to realise that I had gone? I don't quite have the courage to leave without permission, but as I stare up at the ignorant, seemingly heartless people who have my fate in their hands, I suddenly have an idea.

Although the purpose built climbing wall is behind me, in clear view of the Gamemakers, the wall underneath the stands also appears to have enough suitable foot and handholds for me to test my newfound climbing skills. In addition, the position of it means that the Gamemakers would have to get up and look down over the edge of the stands to see me.

I walk the short distance to the wall and can't help noticing that a couple of the more observant Gamemakers are watching me now. However as I stand at the foot of the wall and look up, my idea doesn't seem as good as it did a minute ago. Still, I can't just stand here. I reach up and put my foot on a bench, pushing myself up before moving up onto the narrow ledge that runs all around the room. Having a specific task to do relaxes me, and before I know it I'm three quarters of the way up the wall, clinging to some kind of wooden frame that is fixed a couple of metres below the stands.

I decide I can go no further so I look up, and am pleased to see the curious faces of seven or eight Gamemakers peering down at me. I might be stuck up here forever but at least I have their attention. I force myself to smile at them and then climb back down. I slide most of the way and my legs are shaking so much that I'm only just able to stop myself from crumpling into a heap when I finally make it to the floor.

I back away until I stand in the middle of the room once more, gazing up at the Gamemakers. Although some of them continue to find the food more interesting than me, I see I have the attention of considerably more of them than I did, for a short time at least. A couple of them are leaning over the edge of the stands to check my arrangement of the plants and berries station, which seem to have been positioned directly under the stands for that reason, and one of the others seems to be using a pair of binoculars to get a better view of the shelter I had hastily built. I wait for a couple of minutes before I receive the nod of dismissal, desperately attempting to prevent my emotions from showing on my face.

An Avox catches my eye and directs me not back to the dining room but towards the lifts. So that's why the others didn't return. I get into the lift and push the button for level 5. There is nothing I can do now but wait.

* * *

I feel a sudden urge to go back to the roof rather than face Icarus and Viola. I know that as soon as I get back to our quarters I will face yet another interrogation. They, together with Marcus, have questioned both myself and Alecto every evening since training began and I've just about had enough. I am quite capable of making my own decisions. Nevertheless, I have no other choice, so I take a deep breath and push open the door, mentally preparing myself for the inevitable onslaught.

"Where have you been? You've been such a long time," calls Viola from the dining room.

I don't know why but we are always interrogated in the dining room. Maybe they think that having us sit on the hard backed uncomfortable chairs in there will make us remember and reveal more in the hope that once we have done so, they will let us escape to the relative comfort of the sitting room or, better still, our own bedrooms.

"I don't think I was any longer than anyone else," I reply, moving into the room.

Viola is sitting at one end of the table and Icarus the other. As I see Icarus, I'm unable to stop myself from staring for a second. His skin, which was previously the only visible part of him that appeared to be its natural colour, is now pale green.

"According to Claudius and Julius, it's the latest fashion," he says, obviously noticing I was staring at him.

"I'm sure everyone who's anyone has pale green skin. I just hope that Claudius doesn't want me to follow the trend on Interview Night. After all, the colour would clash dreadfully with my hair."

"You're actually quite right," he says, looking vaguely surprised, apparently not detecting the sarcasm in my voice. "But you can rely on Claudius to know what is best. I've seen your dress already. You're going to look amazing."

That sounds ominous. I have the horrific evidence of what is considered 'amazing' in the Capitol sitting right in front of me, and my biggest fear as far as the interview is concerned rapidly changes from fox ears and nakedness to pale green skin that will never revert back to its original colour ever again.

"So, back to the matter in hand," interrupts Viola. She has clearly had the green-skin-debate before and doesn't want to endure it again. "Exactly how dreadful were you?"

"What makes you think we were dreadful?" I ask, getting irritated after only a couple of minutes in the same room as her.

She doesn't answer me as Alecto speaks at the same time.

"The Gamemakers didn't say anything so I don't know. I went in and tried to arrange the plants and berries. Then I tried to light a fire but it didn't work. And the shelter I built fell down as I left the room."

"It went well then," says Icarus, as sensitive to our feelings as ever.

I feel sorry for Alecto, but hearing what happened to him makes me feel slightly better. Despite not doing very well, it's likely there will be at least a couple of tributes that get a lower score than me. It's like Marcus reminded me, 'Only the very high and the very low scores are remembered'.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell us anything, Lysandra," continues Icarus. "We will have to wait to see whether you score one or ten."

"Somewhere in the middle, I hope."

"So you are hiding something."

Trust Alecto. After I had been doing so well at hiding the fact that I've deviated from the official plan.

"What do you mean by that," snaps Viola.

"He doesn't mean anything," I say. "It took me a little while to master edible plants, that's all."

She looks at me, her expression full of suspicion, but she says nothing.

"Let's eat before the scores are released," says Marcus, speaking for the first time since I entered the room.

* * *

A couple of hours later, following another of the wonderful Capitol dinners, we are all in our usual positions in the sitting room, waiting for the scores to be televised. I feel the butterflies return to my stomach, but I don't feel as nervous as I did before the Opening Ceremony. I did what I could and now I'll just have to wait and see what the Gamemakers decide.

Marcus switches on the television slightly before the scores programme begins. They're televising repeats of last year's Games again. I think I've seen last year's interviews about six times since I arrived in the Capitol and nearly know more about those tributes than the ones I will actually be competing against.

However they're not showing the interviews this time. I hear Claudius Templesmith announce the beginning of the Seventy-third Hunger Games before a loud gong sounds and the chaos of the Cornucopia begins. Before I can turn away I see a girl fall to the ground with a knife in her back. She has red hair, darker than mine but red nevertheless. She's close enough to me in stature and appearance to suddenly cause me to see my own death flash before me.

"Turn it off. Please."

"You'll be seeing it happening in reality in front of your own eyes in a couple of days. You won't be able to turn it off then," is all I get in response from Icarus.

"It's okay for you. You will never have to face the reality, will you? Neither will your children or your nephews and nieces. You will never see the Hunger Games for what it really is!"

I run out of the room, slamming the door behind me, then I stand alone in the stark white corridor, staring at the blank wall until my breathing slowly returns to normal. Most of the time I can deal with the situation I'm in by always following the plan. If I analyse the other tributes and focus on what they're doing then I have less time to think about myself. If I notice little details like Thresh and his protectiveness of Rue, Peeta's possibly unrequited love for Katniss and that Cato and Clove appear to think a lot more of each other than is appropriate given the situation they're in, then as well as potentially being the difference between life and death for me, it gives me something else to think about besides the fact that in less than two days it is highly likely I will be dead.

Somehow it seems that if I'm able to treat the whole thing like a big game then I can block out the truth. However every so often the truth refuses to be blocked out and all I can feel is blind panic. This is one of those times, and it takes Marcus knocking on the door and telling me that the scores will be on in a minute to distract me from my morbid thoughts and force me to go back into the sitting room.

I say nothing as I return to my armchair in front of the television and am relieved when everyone else also remains silent. I would have stayed away, but I realise that I really need to know what scores the other tributes get. As my father once told me when I was a little girl, knowledge is power.

The same commentator who presented the recap of the reapings appears on the screen. It soon becomes apparent that his over-the-top manner hasn't changed as he announces that, although the Gamemakers can tell him nothing about what actually happened in the training room, he has heard it's likely to be the most exciting and closely fought Hunger Games ever. Exciting for who? It certainly won't be for most of the tributes.

As ever, it begins with District 1, the male tribute then the female. The face of the boy from 1 flashes up on the screen followed by his score of eight points. This is about average for a Career and is no great surprise to anyone. My first surprise of the night is Glimmer. I had thought her greatest weapon was her beauty, but apparently I was mistaken as she scores nine.

"Not just a pretty face then," says Icarus, returning to his biggest talent of stating the blindingly obvious.

It's no great surprise when Cato and Clove both score ten and the tributes from 3 score three and two. The boy and girl from District 3 have made no impression on me at all and I barely recognise them when their faces flash up on the screen. I do, however, recognise the arrogant expression on the face of the girl from District 4 who tried so hard to intimidate me before the chariots left the Remake Centre for the Opening Ceremony. Both she and her male counterpart receive a score of eight.

Although I'm obviously aware that District 5 follows District 4, I still jump slightly when Alecto's face appears on the screen. My heart sinks when he scores only three, but I don't have much time to think about it as his face disappears and is quickly replaced by mine.

My face is expressionless but at least I look like me. The photograph must have been taken on reaping day because I can just about make out the green colour of the tunic that Cassie had made me wear. So she could keep an eye on me, she had said. Now she can still keep an eye on me, only not in the way she had intended.

I breathe a sigh of relief when my score appears. Six points. Neither good nor bad. Mediocre. Average. Exactly what I want everyone to think when they think of me.

"You've had it now, boy," Icarus announces to Alecto. "Who will sponsor you now? And you didn't do much better," he continues, turning his attention to me.

"What did you expect? If you want trained killers then go and chaperone District 2."

"We don't get to choose who we represent. Maybe if you live past Day One then I might get a decent district next year."

"The thought of you getting promoted is almost incentive enough to make me pass Cato a spear and stand right in front of him," I reply. I'm sure I never used to be this short-tempered.

"At least you have some fighting spirit, with us anyway," interrupts Marcus, "but I do think you should try to save it for the arena. We're here to help you, Lysandra."

"I'm sorry," I say, looking at him rather than Icarus.

I am sorry for behaving like that in front of Marcus, who has always been so kind to me, but I'm not sorry about what I said to Icarus. He really is oblivious to the brutal reality of the Games and I can't pretend well enough to ignore that.

I turn to look at Alecto, who is staring resolutely at the floor. I'm not sure why I feel the need to comfort him but I do.

"Anything can happen in the arena, Alecto. Remember that boy from a few years ago. He got a three and he still won."

"I suppose," he says, shrugging his shoulders before looking up from the floor and back to the television.

While we've been talking, or should that be arguing, the programme has moved on past District 9. Both tributes from District 10 score five, not a high score but still a shock considering the boy's disability. Maybe he has good survival skills that will benefit him if he can escape the bloodbath, but if I were a citizen of the Capitol betting on the Games then I wouldn't put money on him. Not until after Day One at least.

The programme moves swiftly on to District 11 and Thresh is given a ten. Although he has scored higher than a lot of the Career Tributes and could greatly increase his chances of surviving the early stages by forming an alliance with them, he has stubbornly refused to do so, despite the many attempts that they have made to engage him in conversation during training. I'm pleased to see it. It indicates that at least one person hasn't been corrupted by the Games, that he still has his principles and his honour. Also, as I'd been thoroughly convinced he wasn't acting that night when I saw him on the roof, I'm relieved to see that as far as I can tell at the moment, my judgement wasn't wrong.

I expect Rue to get a bad score. She's so young and vulnerable in appearance that it will surely be obvious to the Gamemakers that she will have little chance. I stare at the screen in astonishment when her score flashes up. Seven. This tiny child has scored only one point less than half of the Careers. What could she possibly have shown the Gamemakers to earn that?

The only thing I can think of that stood out to me in training is the look the trainer gave in her direction when I asked him who the two people who had beaten my time on the climbing wall were. But climbing alone couldn't have earned her a seven. There must be something else but I have no idea what it could be.

Finally it's the turn of District 12, who are forever condemned to be last in everything, and Peeta scores eight, a more than respectable score, especially given the district he is from. I realise that I'm in no position to judge or criticise anyone because of their background or upbringing, but I have grown up constantly hearing about the backwardness of the twelfth district, and I can't avoid being influenced by what I have always been told by everybody, even my father.

If I thought that I was shocked by Rue's score then nothing could prepare me for the number eleven that flashed up on the screen under Katniss' photograph. Despite always suspecting that she's been hiding something since before she even arrived in the Capitol, I never imagined she would surprise virtually the entire nation by getting the highest score of the Games. How could a girl from somewhere like District 12 score higher than the likes of Cato and Clove when they've spent most of their lives in training for this moment?

I suppose she must be extraordinarily good at using at least one weapon, but surely that alone would not be enough? Anyone who had seen the Careers in training would see there has to be more to it than that. Maybe she's been given such a high score because she is different to the others, because she stands out. Her stylist certainly saw to it that she did at the Opening Ceremony, and I know from Marcus that the whole Capitol is talking about 'The Girl Who Was On Fire'. Possibly the way her appearance that day seems to be reflected the fieriness of her personality differentiated her from the lack of emotion displayed during training by the Careers.

As the programme comes to an abrupt end, I realise I haven't really learned anything new by watching it, besides the fact I have obviously succeeded in my plan to appear average, of course. I know that Cato and Clove are the most dangerous tributes and District 3 the least, and also that Katniss was definitely concealing her ability, but I knew all of this already. Without seeing what happened when each tribute entered the gymnasium this afternoon, I am no further forward. I'll have to wait until we enter the arena to find out, which I imagine is the whole point. It makes viewing more exciting that way.

It's been a long day so I go straight to bed as soon as I'm permitted to leave the television room. Although I find it easier to fall asleep than I have done for days, I have frighteningly vivid dreams where I'm being chased by all of the other tributes through a forest of unbelievably tall trees before being cornered in a small fighting ring. I'm surrounded by the Gamemakers and various other brightly dressed Capitol people, and they all cheer as I die.

* * *

"Smile at the audience, Lysandra, you want them to like you," intones Icarus for what seems like the millionth time.

"Do I? Would you be able to look upon the faces of the people waiting to be entertained by your death and smile?"

"I don't have to, but you do," is the only response I get. Not only is he being increasingly obnoxious but he also doesn't contradict me when I say I'm going to die. If my escort and mentors have no faith in me then how can I expect anyone else to?

* * *

I've been in the dining room with Icarus for the past two hours, supposedly refining my appearance for tomorrow's interview. In my opinion, the only thing we've achieved is that we've both thought of new ways to insult each other.

I found it much easier to walk in the ridiculously high heels he gave to me than I thought I would, never having worn them before. They look like they've been stolen from the District 12 escort, Effie Trinket's wardrobe and the thought of her in the audience at the interviews without her shoes kept me going for that particular part of this morning's torture. It seems that every day they think of a new way to make the last few days of my life a misery and it isn't going to get better either. This afternoon will be hours of discussion about what I'm going to say in my interview with Viola and Marcus, then the day after will be the interview itself, followed the next day by the arena. The less I think about that the better.

"I give up with you. I just hope the dress distracts the audience from your complete incompetence."

Incompetence. Coming from a man whose only talent other than always stating the blindingly obvious seems to be making self-alteration an art form. What does it matter what I look like, do or say in the interview? Nobody is going to sponsor me anyway. If they want a safe bet, they will back Cato or Clove, if they want beauty it'll be Glimmer, if they don't support the Careers it'll be Thresh and if they want an outsider or a risk it'll be Katniss. I don't even have innocence and charm to recommend me like Rue does. I am about to point that out to Icarus but before I can do so, he sweeps out of the room, dragging his hands through his still bright purple hair in an almost convincing show of exasperation.

I'm about to get up and leave the dining room when the door opens and Viola walks in, followed closely by Marcus. It looks like I won't get a break between the two training sessions then. And they are obviously keeping Alecto and I separate but I'm not sure why they are bothering. Anything I'm concealing will remain well and truly hidden whether Alecto is present or not, as, having decided to do this by myself with only a little help from Marcus, it's not really my fellow tribute who I am hiding things from.

"So, we need an approach for your interview, a character for you," begins Viola.

"Can't I just be myself?" I ask, unable to stop myself despite already knowing what the answer will be.

She ignores me completely and carries on, this time addressing Marcus like I'm not even there.

"Well she definitely can't do likeable, and she's pretty enough in a strange sort of way but there's no point attempting beautiful and sexy because of the girl from District 1. We can't possibly go for the ruthless killer angle with a six, and I think there are more than enough of those this year anyway. Maybe she _could _just be herself as there's always room for surly and sarcastic."

Even from Viola, who I'm getting used to by now, that hurt a little bit. Surely, having been in my position herself, she knows how hard it is? And yet she really does seem as ignorant as Icarus.

"Well I'm happy with that. Can I go now?" I ask, not expecting her to say yes for a second but trying anyway.

"Maybe we should practice your responses to a couple of questions," says Marcus, obviously attempting to mediate.

"What do you want me to talk about? I can't talk about my family because my mother abandoned me as a child and my father was murdered by the Capitol. I think even Caesar Flickerman would be lost for words if I told the whole of Panem about that. Plus the fact that the Gamemakers will probably conveniently forget to disable the landmines around my metal circle when the Games begin if I say anything against the Capitol."

"You'll think of something, Lysandra. Remember the plan and tell them what they want to hear," Marcus says kindly. "I think Icarus half expects you to wipe out half of the Careers on the first day. He still thinks you're up to something, and if he does then some of the others will too."

"But I'm not up to something, not really anyway," I reply, hating to finally admit this in front of Viola but suddenly feeling the need to talk about it and knowing I might not get another chance.

"But they don't know that, do they, fox-girl?"

Why did he call me that? The only person who has named me so is Thresh, and there's no way that Marcus could have overheard our conversation. Unless there are cameras on the roof, which is highly likely as there is no escaping the eye of the Capitol. He seems to see the question forming in my mind though.

"I overheard District 11 talking outside the training room," he says, smiling, "but that's what a lot of the reporters are calling you now. They think you're sly and cunning."

What I need to do abruptly becomes clear in my head. I seem to have inadvertently created this sly and elusive persona for myself already, so it will be very easy to deliberately carry it on. The biggest advantage of that is that I will be able to avoid talking about difficult and personal subjects in the interview. That way I will have a small victory over the Capitol too. They may be set on ensuring I die before my seventeenth birthday, but that doesn't mean I have to broadcast my past to the whole nation. That is mine and they can't have it.

"I understand now," I say, returning his smile with a small one of my own and ignoring Viola's slightly confused expression.

We spend the next few hours going through likely questions and even watch replays of previous interviews, although I flatly refuse to watch last year's for the seventh time, objecting by not only reciting the questions that Caesar asked but also the tributes responses all the way to District 7 before my mentors eventually give in. At least it proves to me that my memory is still working despite the events of the past week.

Marcus focuses on content and Viola seems to concentrate on appearance, pointing out the tributes who have good posture and those who walk well and project self-confidence. Glimmer seems to naturally walk like a Capitol fashion model, and I only look at her because I can't bear to watch Clove, who always makes me think of a hunting cat, poised to pounce in attack at a split second's notice. I can't help thinking that I'll probably be the mouse in a few short hours time.

I try to ignore the tributes and focus on Viola, who for once seems to be more positive than negative. Now that she is, she is actually proving to be quite helpful. 'If you're struggling to smile then imagine the looks on the faces of the audience if Caesar announced an indefinite ban on any form of cosmetic surgery,' is probably the most useful thing she has ever said to me.

* * *

I stand in front of the mirror, staring in amazement at the stranger's reflection. The eyes staring back from behind the many layers of eye make-up are the only thing I recognise as belonging to me. Although continuing the copper theme, this time the instrument of torture is the vivid blue of copper sulphate. Claudius probably sat for days thinking of the idea so I make a conscious effort not to inflate his ego by mentioning it. Especially when the only thing in its favour is that it isn't 'fox' coloured again.

This dress isn't half as heavy and uncomfortable as the one I wore for the Opening Ceremony, but as I stare into the mirror I instantly decide that I would prefer to wear that one again. How can I possibly appear on television dressed like this? If he was alive to see me now then my father would surely disown me.

The dress is so long that it drags on the floor behind me in an explosion of electric blue and copper, but down to my knees it's almost as tight as the one Clove wore during the parade through the streets of the Capitol. Padding around my chest and folds in the fabric around my hips give me an almost womanly shape that in reality, away from all of this, I certainly don't possess. I feel a strong urge to wrap my recently discarded robe around myself before running away to hide. While I have faith and maybe even arrogance when it comes to my intelligence, I've never had any confidence in my appearance. I feel exposed and vulnerable, which is not good considering I have to appear confident and unfazed when I sit before Caesar Flickerman and the entire population of Panem in about half an hour.

"What have you done to me?" I ask of Claudius and the rest of the prep team, who are standing behind the mirror looking very proud of themselves. I have no idea why.

"You look fabulous," screeches Valeria. "Looking at you now, I would never think you had grown up in such an uncivilised place."

"You look grown-up," says Claudius. "Julius and I decided that there are enough terrified little children in the Games this year. The audience will get bored, and if the audience are bored then I will be demoted even further. That will not be allowed to happen."

"You know that my main concern throughout my time in the Capitol has always been your reputation," I say sarcastically. My heart sinks as I realise that the last person I will see before I enter the arena tomorrow will be my shallow and vain stylist.

Then suddenly I remember something and begin to frantically look around for the clothes that I took off about six hours ago when the prep team arrived. They are nowhere to be found.

"Where are my clothes? I need my district token back."

Claudius puts his hand into the pocket of his sunshine yellow tunic and removes the small fragment of copper that has come to mean so much to me. I hold out my hand but he returns my token to his pocket.

"It needs to be passed by the review board before you can have it back."

"Can I not have it until the interview is over?" I ask. Part of me is ashamed to show such weakness but the rest of me is beyond caring. All I want is the comfort of the only tangible reminder of my past I still have.

"Sorry, but no," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "Hurry up, we need to go downstairs now."

"Can't I at least cover my shoulders?"

"And ruin all of my hard work? Not a chance. Go. Quickly."

I have no choice but to follow him out, through the sitting room and into the corridor, where we are met by Julius, both mentors and Alecto. Though I thought it wasn't possible, my district partner is somehow managing to look more terrified than ever before in his black suit and shirt that matches my dress. As I move from my position behind Claudius, I'm suddenly conscious that everybody is staring at me. The lift door opens and I walk quickly inside, gazing at the floor the whole time.

"You look different," whispers Alecto as we make our way down to the ground floor.

"Don't," I say. "I've never felt more ridiculous in my life."

"You look nice," he replies, and he sounds so genuine that I bite back the irritated comment I was about to say and simply smile in return.

We arrive on the ground floor of the Training Centre, immediately in front of the huge doors that open out onto the City Circle. They hold the interviews on a stage that's constructed each year outside the Training Centre, and as soon as we leave the lift we are swept up in the sea of tributes, mentors and stylists who are filing out of the doors.

The stylists have pride of place on the front row, with the mentors a couple of rows further back. As a tribute, I will have a chair on the stage itself, part of the semi-circle that surrounds the two huge, throne-like chairs in the centre. As I stand in line, ready to parade onto the stage and wishing that everyone could hurry up and get it over with, I watch the people in the audience. Every available chair is occupied and the City Circle is full of people desperate to catch a glimpse of us. Some of the younger ones even have posters painted with the names or district numbers of their chosen favourites. Once again it hits me that this really is just an elaborate game to them. They feel no more sorrow at the prospect of our deaths than they would at the death of a chicken or pig that has been killed for their dinner. The anger that rises up inside me because of that makes me straighten my back and raise my head, some of the embarrassment I'm feeling as a result of the dress vanishing.

"Three, two, one…go!"

The cameras start rolling and the first of the tributes, Glimmer from District 1, begins our procession onto the stage. It all passes by in a blur and before I know it, I'm sitting on my seat and Caesar Flickerman is introducing himself to the audience. He has hosted the interviews for as long as I can remember, the pure white face make-up and blue suit that sparkles with light unchanged in all that time. His hair, eyelids and lips are a pale blue this year. He's a different colour every year, and although he comes from the Capitol and looks almost as stupid as Icarus, I somehow can't feel the same hatred for him that I feel for most Capitol people. He always does his best to present his interviewees in a positive light, and I get the impression that he knows how much his extroverted personality and outlandish appearance distracts the audience from the often petrified tributes.

As usual the interviews start with the girl from District 1, so, after telling the audience a few jokes, Caesar calls Glimmer to the centre of the stage. She seems to glide across the floor, walking with effortless ease in her very high heels, wearing a gold dress that is almost see through. Compared to her, I'm positively decent, and I wonder how she can bear the shame of being paraded in front of everyone in Panem wearing so little. I hope she hates the dress, but as she takes her position opposite Caesar, I get the impression that she's enjoying the attention. She doesn't seem to have given up on her plan of attracting Cato's attention and protection either. As she shakes Caesar's hand and sits down, she turns to face him and sends him her best smile. I smile and laugh to myself as I see that he hasn't even noticed her.

Glimmer has no trouble answering Caesar's questions in her low and sultry voice, every word she says seeming to further accentuate her beauty and attractiveness. When her three minutes is up, she returns to her seat accompanied by an almost deafening round of applause from the audience. She is replaced by the boy from District 1, and I still don't know his name as the announcer's voice was drowned out by the crowd as they continued to cheer for Glimmer. His angle for the interviews appears to be extreme arrogance, and he is so successful at it that I suspect it's a major part of his natural personality and he doesn't have to try.

Clove is next, and she walks over to Caesar with no emotion showing on her face, her metallic silver dress long and flowing this time and giving her no problems. She looks fierce and beautiful, a natural beauty compared to Glimmer's almost artificial appearance and as she sits down facing the sparkling presenter, the silver glitter in her almost black hair shimmers in the light of the setting sun.

She speaks coldly of the other tributes and reveals nothing about herself apart from how she is completely confident that she will win. Caesar asks her if she fears any of her competitors, 'even a little bit' he adds with a smile, but she replies that she has never feared anyone. I can see on the big screen above the stage that the camera has focused on Cato, who smirks in response to her comment.

I sit upright on my chair as instructed by Viola as one-by-one the tributes take their turn, getting more and more nervous the closer my own interview gets. As Marcus told me, everyone has their own interview strategy, all trying to make themselves as memorable to the audience as they possibly can. Predictably, Cato presents himself as a ruthless killer, whereas the boy from District 3 tries to appear intelligent and quietly confident. He looks so terrified by the whole process that it doesn't really work. His female counterpart barely manages to speak a word and Caesar has to do most of the talking for her. The two Career tributes from District 4, Varia and Arturo, also attempt to be killing machines in emulation of Cato and Clove, but while this appears to be natural and completely convincing for District 2, District 4's interviews appear contrived and forced, and as a result they don't go down nearly as well with the audience.

My name is called and I move the short distance from my chair to the centre of the stage, trying to ignore the various camera crews running around trying to get the best view and desperately hoping that I don't trip over the back of my dress and go crashing into the audience. I focus on the Gamemakers instead, who are sitting on a balcony to the right of the Training Centre and have a better view than anyone. For some reason when I look at them I feel only anger rather than crippling fear. As there is no food to distract them, they're all staring at me, but I don't avert my gaze until I'm standing right next to Caesar. I shake his hand and sit down, hoping that I'm not visibly shaking.

"So, Lysandra…how do you rate your chances?"

"I have as much chance as anyone else. I'm more likely to win than some."

"You scored six in training, right in the middle of the range. Do you think that's an accurate assessment? There has been talk that you're keeping secrets from us," he says, grinning and winking at the nearest camera.

"To tell you now would rather ruin the surprise, don't you think?" I reply, looking up into the stands in search of Marcus. When I find him, he gives me an almost imperceptible nod and I start to relax slightly. At least I'm doing something right.

"You're right, of course, but can you not even give us a hint about your plan for the arena tomorrow?"

I smile in what I hope is a sly and calculating manner. "You know I won't. All I will say is that the others would be wrong to discount me."

"I'm sure nobody could possibly do that, especially when you look so beautiful in that dress. Tell me, how have you found your time here in the Capitol? Not many people from the districts get the chance to see the bright lights for themselves."

I glance up at the big screen to see the beaming face of Claudius, greatly enjoying his moment in the limelight. I wonder if he bribed Caesar to compliment the dress? I find it very hard to believe that anybody would do so out of choice.

This is the one question I could never get right when I was training. The whole experience of the Hunger Games has been one big performance but I seem to find being in any way positive about the Capitol one lie too far. I open my mouth but the words simply aren't there.

"Maybe it has been the beautiful surroundings or the clothes you've been able to wear. Everybody loved the dress you wore for the Opening Ceremony, didn't you?" continues Caesar, gesturing to the audience, who loudly chorus 'yes!' in response.

My mind suddenly unfreezes when I realise Caesar is having to talk for me. While I'm grateful to him for prompting me and filling what would have been a very embarrassing gap in the conversation, I can't bear the thought of anybody feeling sorry for me. I don't want sympathy, especially not from these people.

"Probably," I say. "I'm sure nobody else could transform me the way Claudius has."

I can see from their faces that most of the audience took my comment at face value, an awestruck tribute complimenting her stylist, but I can tell by the slight tightening of Claudius' jaw when he once more appears on the big screen that he realised what I said was no compliment.

"How about back home in District 5? Is there a love-struck boyfriend watching you and waiting for you to come home?"

"There is nobody," is all I say. That's one question that I didn't even begin to think of an answer for. I had assumed that Caesar would not think to ask me.

"How about your family then?" he continues.

He's getting close to dangerous ground now, both in terms of what I could publicly say without being arrested and what I wanted to reveal in a televised interview.

"I was raised in the District 5 Community Home, my parents died when I was six years old," I add, viciously hoping that my long estranged mother is watching. She is dead to me, but I hope she recognises me even after all this time and is in some way affected by my response to Caesar's question. "There's only my cousin, Cassie, but I hope she knows how much I love her," I continue, giving my first genuine smile of the evening to the camera only for her.

"I'm sure she does, you've told her yourself tonight. Hello Cassie!" shouts Caesar, waving frantically into the camera. I can imagine her reaction, cringing with embarrassment while sitting in the dining hall with all of the other laboratory workers, gathered around the huge television screen as they do every year.

The buzzer sounds to indicate the end of my three minutes and as Caesar announces me once more and wishes me good luck, I scurry back to my seat as quickly as I can, breathing a sigh of relief that I've survived the interview. All of the preparation is over now, all that remains is the actual Games. No more mentors, no more smiling when I feel like crying, no more pretence, and, of vital importance to me, no more ludicrous dresses.

I'm sorry to say that I missed the whole of Alecto's interview because it took me so long to regain my composure and to stop shaking. As he returns to his chair he looks so downcast that I know it didn't go well. I try to catch his eye to reassure him that it doesn't really matter, but he stares at the floor without even looking up for a second. What can I do to help him anyway? We will all be fighting our own battles in the arena tomorrow and it will be entirely up to him then. If he continues to deal with the pressure as he has tonight then I wouldn't give much for his chances.

The interviews that follow after mine all seem to blend into one, nobody doing or saying anything to make themselves stand out. The first tribute to make any impression on me is the boy from District 10, the one with the crippled foot. His name is Lucas and as he hobbles across the stage, I notice something about the look in his eyes that makes him different from some of the others. Although he doesn't say much and Caesar has to do a lot of the talking, there is a quiet determination there that I didn't see in the girl from his district or in the tributes from 6, 7, 8 and 9. However hopeless his chances might appear, this boy has at least a small amount of hope left. He hasn't quite given up.

Rue shares this boy's quiet determination as she assures Caesar she will be very hard to catch in the arena. Thresh probably says about three words throughout his entire interview, but, due to his intimidating appearance, he seems to get away with it. I have no doubt that half of the audience would consider sponsoring him even if he had remained totally silent for the whole time.

When Thresh leaves the centre of the stage the whole City Circle goes so silent you could almost hear a pin drop. Everybody is waiting for the appearance of Katniss Everdeen, the girl from the country's poorest district who has somehow managed to get the highest score in this year's Games. She walks onto the stage, very slightly unsteady in heels she is obviously unaccustomed to wearing, and shakes Caesar's hand.

I'm instantly surprised by the girl I see. I had been expecting to see hints of what I think is the real Katniss, confident, able and well used to fending for herself. The biggest shock is when she spins around in her sparkling dress and ends up leaning on Caesar for support when she makes herself dizzy. It's almost as if she is deliberately trying to make herself appear as girlish and unthreatening as she can, but if you ask me then there doesn't seem to be much point in that strategy when the Gamemakers gave her an eleven the day before. The only time she does or says anything that I can take seriously is when she speaks of her sister and how she took her place in the Games. I can still see the scene at District 12's reaping now and I still feel the same jealousy that I felt that day. If only there was somebody I cared about so much that I would give my life to save theirs.

Despite appearing slightly shallow in my eyes, the Capitol people seem to love her and continue to cheer and call out her name long after she has sat back down and Peeta has taken to the stage. Peeta is likeable enough and the tactics of the District 12 team become startlingly clear when he declares his undying love for Katniss in front of the entire nation. They have been planning this for a while, I think. That would explain the hand holding and the matching outfits perfectly. However looking at Katniss on the big screen, I am not convinced that she was either in on the whole plot or that she feels the same way about Peeta. She looks shyly at the floor and blushes at all the right moments, but there is something about the way her eyes quickly flash to the big television screen to look at her own face that tells me all might not be as it seems.

The crowd take in every word and are clearly loving the drama. I think it's the first time in the history of the Hunger Games that one of the tributes has declared his love for another during the interviews, and it has evidently done no harm at all to the sponsorship opportunities available to District 12. I'm certain that was the intention the whole time but I still can't decide how much Katniss and Peeta knew in advance. It will become apparent soon enough. We will all see where their loyalties truly lie when they get in the arena.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

I feel like I've only been asleep for about an hour when I'm woken by a quiet but insistent scratching at the door. My first thought is that it's Claudius, here to take me to the hovercraft which will fly me to the arena, and my heart sinks. Then I realise that such subtlety isn't Claudius' style, that he would just barge in without even knocking.

I sit up and climb out of the huge bed. When I look out of the window at the Capitol I can see that it is still dark. It's not even dawn yet. I walk over to the door and open it slightly, peering out into the corridor to see who has disturbed me so early.

"Claudius will be here in a minute but I wanted to talk to you first," whispers Marcus, furtively looking around as if he expects half a dozen Peacekeepers to leap out at us from the shadows. He steps back and gestures for me to follow him.

"I thought we said all of our goodbyes over dinner last night," I whisper back, but I follow him anyway.

We walk through into the sitting room and he sits down, pulling one of the other armchairs around to face him at the same time. I take the seat and look up at him, waiting for him to speak. He doesn't, and we sit staring at each other for a few minutes before he finally breaks the silence.

"In the seven years since I won the Games I've seen so many tributes come back to District 5 in wooden boxes. When I realised I'd won I genuinely thought it would be over. All I wanted to do was marry Poppy and forget the whole thing ever happened. I didn't even consider what it would be like to mentor and get to know the tributes before having to send them to their deaths."

I didn't like to point out that even if he did marry his love and settle down, the names of their children would be put into the reaping balls along with all the rest. The children of past victors are not exempt and nobody is ever free of the Hunger Games.

"Why are you here, Marcus? Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I don't want to escort your wooden box back to District 5."

"Have you said the same thing to Alecto?"

"We both know Alecto won't win the Games, Lysandra, but you have a chance. You're not the same as the others I've seen. If you keep planning and make sure you always keep one step ahead of the rest, then you have a real chance of winning."

I don't quite know what to say to that. In a way I'm flattered he thinks so highly of me, especially considering that he is the only member of my 'support team' that I have any respect for. Even though I don't know what to say, I open my mouth to speak, but he interrupts me before I can.

"Don't say anything. Just promise me that as soon as the gong sounds you will run. Don't think about anything else. I'm sure that we'll have enough sponsorship money to get you a water bottle and a purifier if you don't have one, so just run. Promise me, Lysandra," he says, and the strength of emotion in his voice makes me sit back slightly in my seat.

"I promise," I say sincerely, before attempting to lighten his mood. "Didn't I tell you I'd already discounted the idea of forming an alliance with the Careers."

"It's not funny, Lysandra. I'm not joking."

"And I'm not laughing. I said that I promise and I mean it. If I can get out of there then I will, but I want you to promise me something too. When it's all over, I want you to visit my cousin. Her name's Cassie. Well, it's Cassiopeia really, but if you call her that then she'll probably kill you. She works in Laboratory Seven."

"What do you want me to say to her?"

Talking of family and home was definitely a bad idea. I suddenly have a lump in my throat and I can feel the tears forming in my eyes. "Tell her..," I start, but I can't think of the words. "Think of something good and tell her I said it. I'm sure you'll think of something."

I stand up, not willing for his last memory of me to be one of a frightened little girl sobbing on the floor like a baby, and he does the same. He moves closer as if to hug me, but I move away.

"Please, don't make this more difficult than it already is."

He smiles, although it doesn't quite reach his eyes, and steps away. I smile weakly in return and sit back in the armchair, watching him walk away.

* * *

A few minutes later I decide to go back to my room, but as I stand up the main door swings open and Claudius walks in. As soon as I see him, my heart begins to race and my stomach churns. It's time.

"Good. You're already up and ready for your big day," he says, speaking with way too much enthusiasm for my liking. "We must go up to the roof now, the hovercraft will be waiting."

"Is there any chance it will leave without me if we're late?"

He only looks at me and gestures to the door. I have no choice but to go with him, up in the lift to the roof and to the people waiting to escort me to my impending doom. The only positive point is that, for once in his life, Claudius remains silent. I don't think I could cope with discussing the latest Capitol fashions at a time like this and I think that if he even mentions Cinna and Portia then I will become the first tribute who has ever killed her own stylist.

As we walk out into the open air I instinctively look for the other tributes, but there is nobody else there. No tributes, no mentors, no stylists. Complete silence. Where could they all have gone? Surely we have to leave at the same time for us all to be ready for the start of the Games?

My questions are answered when a hovercraft appears out of thin air a short distance away from me. I've seen them before on the television, of course, but its sudden arrival still shocks me. My first thought is that they are usually seen carrying away the bodies of dead tributes, and the less I think about that the better.

Claudius pushes me forwards and indicates that I should climb onto the ladder which has been dropped down from the craft. I do so and feel a rush of panic when I'm frozen in place by some sort of electric current. It doesn't release me until I am inside the hovercraft and a white-coated man has painfully injected me with what I'm told is a tracker device. By telling me what he's doing, he is really telling me that there is no way I can escape the arena. Do they actually think I don't already know that?

A short time later, Claudius is lifted from the roof in the same manner and the door is closed. As we begin our journey, I gaze through the small window back down to the roof of the Training Centre. I'm surprised to see Marcus standing there, his arm raised in salute.

* * *

About half an hour later the windows of the hovercraft change to black so it's impossible for me to see out. We must be close to the arena. I take deep breaths and try to stop my mind from racing. The fact that we are beginning our descent towards the ground doesn't make my task any easier.

"We have arrived," says Claudius as we land. My first thoughts are that he's been spending way too much time around Icarus and that my escort's ability to state the obvious must be contagious.

"I gathered that," I reply as I move back towards the ladder, determined that I will go to my death with my head held high rather than having to be dragged, especially by someone like Claudius.

We descend underground and are shown to a small room, one of twenty-four that has been constructed underneath the arena for the specific purpose of housing each tribute in the final moments before the start of the Games. They call it the Launch Room in the Capitol, but the catacombs under the arena are referred to as the Stockyard, the slaughterhouse, by the districts, particularly the ones that don't have a high survival rate for their tributes.

Claudius and I sit in silence as we eat breakfast. My stylist eats like this will be his last meal, consuming so much food that I'm surprised there is any left for me. Not that I feel hungry. I force myself to eat as much as I can, largely on the basis that it's unlikely there will be much food available to me in the arena. It's a real struggle not to bring it all straight back up again, and it's fortunate that an Avox enters the room seconds after I have finished eating, distracting me from the sick feeling in my stomach.

The Avox drops a carefully wrapped package onto the table, removes some of the plates and dishes and then abruptly leaves. I'm alone with Claudius once more.

"That is your clothes. It's time for you to change now."

I go through to the adjoining room, have a shower and dress in the clothes provided. The clothes are simple, and therefore so unlike anything I have seen in the Capitol. Claudius will certainly not approve. As well as the pale green shirt, which is an exact colour match for the dye that Icarus used on his skin, and a pair of beige trousers, I'm relieved to see a thin black jacket with a hood. I will need the hood to cover my hair, which stands out a mile and, from what I remember from seeing my reflection in the gymnasium mirror, will make most attempts at camouflage utterly useless. I reach down to zip up the jacket and am dismayed to find that my hands and fingers are trembling so much that I simply can't do it. After numerous unsuccessful attempts, I give up and return to the main Launch Room.

When I approach Claudius and look up at him, the shame I feel at having to ask him to zip up my coat like a three-year-old almost overwhelms me. I'm relieved when he works out what I need him to do without me having to speak. I half expect him to comment, especially as he has never been at all mindful of my feelings, but he says nothing. Eventually I break the silence, the tension becoming unbearable.

"I bet you're not used to this," I say, basing my assumption on the fact that in all previous years I have seen him be part of the Games, he has only ever been stylist to Careers.

"You would be surprised at the number of Careers who spend their time in the Launch Room crying out for somebody to save them. It's very easy for them to pretend to be unafraid until the moment actually arrives. Considering how little chance you have, you are being remarkably brave."

He had to spoil it with the last sentence. Until he had said that I was almost convinced that he actually has some kind of depth to his personality and that he does see the tributes as living and breathing human beings.

"It is nearly time," he continues as he hands me a pair of soft leather boots.

When I've put the boots on, I walk over to the metal circle in the corner of the room that appears to be mounted into the floor but I don't stand on it. It's almost as if part of me is still refusing to accept that this is happening, and, until I am told to, I can't quite completely resign myself to my fate.

Claudius follows me, holding out his hand. When I reach out to him, he drops my small engraved square of copper into the palm of my hand. I clench my fingers so tightly around it that I feel the rough edges cut into my skin, but I don't loosen my grip until I look down and see that my hand is still shaking.

Although I had always intended to carry my precious district token in my hand when the metal circle raises me up into the arena, hoping that it will give me courage, I decide that doing so wouldn't really be such a good idea. I still remember the year when a tribute girl had done that very thing and accidentally dropped her token to the floor before the countdown had ended and the landmines that surround the podiums had been disabled. They were still scraping bits of her from the arena floor many hours after the Games had started. That horrific vision flashes through my mind and I quickly put my own token in my pocket, making sure that it's completely zipped closed.

A surprisingly gentle female voice breaks our silence and announces that it's time for launch, and instinctively my eyes flash to the door despite the fact I know there is no escape. Claudius moves forward to push me onto the metal circle, which is about to rise up and transport me into the arena, but I step onto it before he can reach me. I don't have much left of myself now but I do still have my pride. He stands facing me and as we stare at each other, I once more find myself wishing that the person who is likely to be the last non-tribute I ever see was somebody other than him. I have no idea what to say, and my throat is so dry that I don't actually think I would be able to speak even if I did.

"Marcus asked me to remind you of your promise. He said you would understand."

"When did he speak to you?"

"On the roof, before the ladder came back down. Do you want me to give him a message?"

"Just tell him that I haven't forgotten and that I'll do my best. Tell him that nobody can predict what will happen in the arena."

I almost cry out in fear as a glass cylinder is lowered down from the ceiling, slowly cutting me off from my surroundings. It really is time now. This really is happening. Why can I not stop myself from shaking?

"I'll keep working on the dress for your Victor's Interview. You are certainly devious and sly enough to outwit them all."

"Promise me that if I do come back you will allow me to decide for myself what I think is sufficiently decent."

He does reply to me but I don't hear what he said as the glass cylinder reaches the floor and locks tightly, suddenly muting all sound. The metal plate begins to slowly rise up.

* * *

Although it was well before dawn when I left the Training Centre, the sun is high in the sky now. After all, the citizens of the Capitol rise late and would be incredibly disappointed if they missed the bloodbath at the Cornucopia because they were still asleep. As my eyes are unaccustomed to the bright light of the sun after the relative darkness of the underground Launch Room, the first thing that registers about the arena is the temperature. At least we won't freeze to death this year like some tributes have previously done. The next thing I notice is the smell of pine trees. At least there will hopefully be somewhere to hide if I make it that far.

As my eyes become used to the light, I am able to see the huge golden horn that's known as the Cornucopia. We are all arranged in a circle around the horn, which sparkles brightly in the sunlight and is clearly full of potentially life-saving supplies. Even from where I stand, directly facing its side, I can see large quantities of food, weapons and what looks like a first aid kit.

My heart sinks when I look past the Cornucopia to the wider surroundings of the arena. I was so pleased to smell the pine trees that I didn't consider what I would do if the quickest way to reach them involved crossing the open ground that surrounds the horn and therefore having to run through the very centre of the battle. The dire reality of my situation is made worse when the first tribute I see is Cato, standing on his podium almost directly opposite me, effectively blocking my best escape route.

I turn to look behind me and am faced with a large lake. Knowing the sadistic nature of the Gamemakers, I would put money on that being the only water supply in the arena, their way of ensuring that the tributes are guaranteed to meet each other and provide ample entertainment for the audience.

To my left there are pine trees, but they're a lot further away, and while my first instinct told me to run that way, thinking about it, I can see that in the time it took me to cross half of the distance, Clove could easily get to the Cornucopia, pick up a knife and throw it into my retreating back. I know from training that she never misses and she would surely be unable to resist such an easy target.

My only other option would be to run to my right, but all I can see is what looks like a cliff edge, and despite my current position, I am not so desperate that I wish to end it all that way, not yet anyway. It seems I have no choice but to risk the mad dash across the face of the Cornucopia and hope I'm fast enough.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!" roars the voice of Claudius Templesmith, the Hunger Games announcer and one of the richest and most famous men in all of Panem.

His announcement signals the beginning of the sixty second countdown to the start of the Games, and the blind panic that I felt a couple of days ago when I had seen the death of the red haired girl from last year on the television screen begins to return. If I don't do something about it then I will probably end up stepping off my metal circle and being blown to pieces by the mines, so I concentrate on taking deep breaths and doing what has always taken my mind off my terror in the past, which is focusing on my plan and watching the other tributes.

Thresh stands on the podium directly to my right, and when I turn my head to look at him, he meets my eyes and nods once before looking away. I follow the direction of his eyes and see Rue. She is frantically looking around, desperate to find a way of distancing herself from Cato as quickly as she can when the gong sounds. He is more than capable of killing her with his bare hands and is currently standing right next to her.

Cato isn't thinking about Rue though. I can see immediately how all of his attention is on Clove, who is two tributes to the left of me, on the other side of Peeta from District 12. They seem to be trying to decide on a plan even though they obviously can't speak to each other, nodding and gesturing to the Cornucopia and various other parts of the arena. After watching them for a couple of seconds I have no idea what they're going to do, but I suppose it's too much to hope for that it's all for show and intimidation. My only wish is that Cato's part of the plan involves him moving away so he's no longer between me and the relative safety of the woods.

The sixty seconds must nearly be over by now so I position myself within my metal circle, ready to run for my life as soon as the gong sounds. A couple of seconds later, the sound rings out around the circle of tributes and I launch off the metal circle towards the woods, running faster than I thought possible.

As I race past the open front of the Cornucopia, I grab the first bag I reach, barely slowing down. I suddenly hear rapid footsteps behind me, and as they are too light to belong to Peeta, I instinctively know it's Clove, here for the set of knives I saw on the floor when I picked up the bag. Although I don't look back, my suspicions are confirmed when I see Katniss and a boy, who I think is from District 9, fighting over a bright orange bag. As I run past them I see the boy fall forwards, his life ended by the knife protruding from his back.

I continue to run, going straight past Cato just as he removes a spear from the stomach of the poor unfortunate boy from District 6 ,who simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The boy's dying scream continues to echo in my head when I reach the woods seconds later.

I'm forced to stop behind a tree for a minute as I'm unused to running and am therefore gasping for breath. In a very short time I make myself stand upright though. The air is full of the unbearable, deafening screams of the dead and dying tributes who were unable or unwilling to run away from the Cornucopia. As the horrific reality of the Games truly hits me for the first time, I know those screams will haunt me forever. How can the Capitol call this entertainment? How can the people there even bear to watch it? How can they look at the faces of the terrified and dying children who are only a few metres away from me and not see the faces of their own children reflected back at them?

As my breathing rate returns to something that vaguely resembles normal, I look back at the Cornucopia. It really is a bloodbath that I see, and I have to force myself to continue watching as I wipe silent tears from my face. To my relief, I can't see any sign of Alecto. I tried so hard not to like him, but despite his lack of bravery and spirit, I believe he's a good person. A person who loves his family who is likely to pay the ultimate price for trying to keep them safe and well-fed. A person who doesn't deserve to die.

Then a rustling noise coming from somewhere to the right of where I'm standing jolts me abruptly back to reality. It makes me remember my promise to Marcus and realise that I can't stay here. As I pull the bag securely onto my back, I take a final look through the branches. What I see doesn't reassure me. In all the years I've been forced to watch the Hunger Games on the television back in the Community Hall, and then later in the laboratory dining room, the Career Tributes have always won the battle at the Cornucopia and therefore control of most of the supplies by sheer brute strength and numbers. What I see this year is different. What I see this year is organisation and planning. This realisation truly terrifies me.

Glimmer, the boy from 1 and both tributes from 4 appear to be chasing down those who are trying desperately to flee the scene of the bloodbath, their thoughts only of escape. I see the bodies on the floor and can't help thinking that if I hadn't thought ahead and if I hadn't ran so quickly then I could so easily be lying there on the cold ground drenched in my own blood.

Every year there are always a few tributes who think they're strong enough or clever enough to take on the Careers on the first day of the Games, when they are at their strongest, before the cracks begin to appear in their alliance. Maybe they are misguided by their mentors, maybe it's arrogance, or more likely it's simply plain stupidity, but there are always a few who try it. I have seen them in years past, rushing for the Cornucopia, hoping to get away with something good, just as I'm seeing them do before my own eyes now. Most years there are a few who make it, but this year there will not be. As I watch, I see Cato and Clove fighting back-to-back, blocking the entrance to the golden horn with the circle of fallen tributes that surround them. As I ask myself the question of who exactly is doing the organising, I realise I already know.

I hear the rustling noise again, slightly closer this time, and I immediately take off further into the woods. I keep running until I can no longer hear the hopeless cries of the dying tributes, then I continue on, sprinting as fast as I can until I have no choice but to stop once more to catch my breath.

I'm shocked by the silence that surrounds me here in the middle of the woods. Having spent all of my life surrounded by people and scientific machinery, which is constantly whirring and hissing, I'm unused to peace and quiet. As I stand and listen, the only sound I hear is the calling of mockingjays, high in the trees above me.

I'm glad the birds are no closer, as I've never been very good with them. If the ones that are kept for experiments back home are anything to go by anyway. Their usual response to my voice is a series of what I am sure are very derogatory comments combined with frantic flapping of their brightly coloured wings.

This thought of home, however random, makes me feel slightly better, so I sit down and go through the contents of the bag, being careful to ensure that I am hidden out of sight. I don't know what I was expecting the bag to contain, maybe a secret map that will show me how to escape the arena without detection, or a special weapon that will instantaneously wipe out all six Careers at the same time. There must have been something that ridiculous hidden deep in my subconscious because, despite the usefulness of the items that I find, I still feel disappointment. There is a blanket that seems to retain the heat amazingly well considering how thin and light it is, a few packets of dried fruit and crackers and a bottle of iodine to purify water. Now all I need is something to purify.

I open the smaller, front section of the bag and my heart leaps when I pull out a water bottle, but predictably it's empty. I push it roughly back inside, my disappointment increasing by the second, only to pull it out again a second later when I hear it make a clanking sound against something else I hadn't noticed before. I reach into the bag and pull out a very lethal looking knife. I stare at it, deciding I wouldn't really know what to do with it if I found myself in a situation where I needed to use it but also supposing it's one less for Clove. I push it into the waistband of my trousers so I can get at it quickly and then put everything else back into the bag.

Probably as a result of the bag's lack of an escape map or weapon of mass destruction, my previous improvement in mood doesn't last long. I slump back against a tree, knowing I can't carry on like this. I am already tired and I've seen no sign of a water supply other than the lake next to the Cornucopia. I'm not so naïve that I think I can survive in this wilderness for long without water and food, but I am also mindful of my promise to Marcus. Did I not say that I would run, that I would put as much distance between myself and the bloodbath as I could? My thoughts return to my departure from the Training Centre and Marcus' last words to me. Was it really only a few small hours ago? It feels like days.

As I sit there pondering, I suddenly recall that making me promise to run was not the only thing my mentor said to me. He also said that I have a chance of winning if I keep planning and keep one step ahead of the others. 'Keep one step ahead of the others'. To do that, I must have a means of knowing exactly what's going on, and the nightly projections of the faces of the tributes who have died that day will not be enough. An idea occurs to me that would enable me to do just that which will also put me close to a constant supply of water and food, but it's easily the riskiest strategy I've ever thought of. The problem is that I have no choice.

I use a stray branch to pull myself to my feet, then straighten my back and look straight ahead, imagining that Marcus is standing opposite me. I hope there's a camera focused in my direction and that they televise my words so my mentor can see that I did not carelessly disregard my promise.

"Marcus, I'm sorry to twist your words and I'm sure this isn't what you meant, but I have no choice. I hope you can see that."

As soon as the words have left my mouth, I return my bag to my shoulders and head off back the way I came. Back towards the Cornucopia.

* * *

It takes me longer to reach my destination than I thought it would. I'd obviously been running for longer than I imagined and following my own trail wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. And this time I don't run. I creep along, listening carefully for any sound which might tell me I'm not as alone as I think I am, but I hear nothing until at least a couple of hours later, when the sound of the ongoing battle drifts across the narrow clearing I'm standing in. It's quieter than before. Nobody is screaming. I can hear only the sound of metal on metal, presumably the clash of swords or knives. Now that I've made a conscious decision to return to the Cornucopia, I feel nervousness simply because I'm here. Before my thoughts were only of escape but now I have to hide.

I crouch down and edge slowly towards the thick foliage that surrounds the open ground around the Cornucopia, pulling my hood up to cover my vivid red hair. From what I could see of the rest of forest edge, I've definitely been lucky to end up here and will have to remember how to get back. Although I am so close to the golden horn that I could easily hear and understand the voices of the other tributes if they were to speak, I'm more concealed here than I would be just a couple of metres to my right, where there are considerably more gaps in the leaves.

As I settle down in as comfortable a position as is possible considering how I'm crouched in the middle of a bush, hiding from people who would kill me in a heartbeat if they knew I was here, I turn around to check I can still see my chosen tree. I'm relieved I can because this tree is the only place I've seen in this area that has branches thick enough to hide in that I could get to in time to climb if I was discovered. If I'm going to follow this last minute change in the plan then my next task really must be to search for more hiding places.

In a fraction of a second I very nearly waste all of the time and effort I've gone to in order to remain hidden, as I almost fall forwards in shock at what I see when look out across the front of the Cornucopia. The bloodbath is almost over, in considerably shorter time than in many previous years, and there are only two tributes still fighting. One of them is Arturo, the boy from District 4, and I can hear him telling the other Careers not to interfere, that the person he's fighting is his. That person is Peeta.

I had been so sure he would flee the Cornucopia. Yes, he is strong, but as he comes from District 12 I'm almost certain he doesn't have the fighting skills to take on the Careers. Looking at him now though, he seems to be giving a good account of himself, meeting the other boy's vicious sword swings with his own sword until they both somehow manage to disarm each other at the same time. Not wanting to give up on the fight, or maybe just desperately struggling to preserve his life for a little while longer, Peeta tackles Arturo to the ground and they begin to wrestle. As the sound of their battle echoes around the open space, I'm surprised to see that the Career Tribute doesn't appear to have the advantage.

I turn to watch the others and see that Glimmer, the boy from District 1 and Varia, the girl from 4, are standing a short distance apart from each other, concentrating all of their attention on the two who are still fighting. There is clearly no love lost between Varia and Arturo as she shows no sign of wanting to help him. I have a strong suspicion that were it not for the tenuous Career Alliance, she would probably be the one fighting him.

Cato and Clove are some distance from both the other tributes and the ongoing fight, still in their previous position at the front of the entrance to the Cornucopia, conferring quietly. Cato seems to be trying to win Clove over to his way of thinking, repeatedly pointing from them to Peeta and Arturo, but she shakes her head, clearly unconvinced.

Peeta cries out suddenly as Arturo's superior strength and fitness begins to tell and the Career boy takes charge of the fight, managing to roll Peeta onto his back. As he puts his hands around the now defeated boy's throat and starts to choke the life from him, I'm distracted by a movement I see in the corner of my eye. Clove moves forward a step and then turns back to look at Cato, who nods violently in the direction of the two battling tributes. With a now familiar casual flick of her wrist, Clove sends a knife flying across the clearing, straight into Arturo's heart. He crumples to the ground, dying instantly.

"You know that if this goes wrong then I will make sure you suffer greatly," she says, returning her gaze to Cato, her voice as casual as the earlier flick of her wrist.

"I would look forward to it," he replies, with a mocking bow in her direction, "but it won't go wrong. He will be too terrified to do anything but agree."

Now I am really confused. I'm starting to think I would have more confidence that I knew what was going on if I had stayed where I was. Not that that was a viable option. Always think about the plan, Lysandra, I tell myself over and over in my head. Everything means something. There must be a reason why the two most powerful tributes in the arena turned on their fellow Career. I know from training and from all of the fights that nearly broke out between them that Cato and Arturo didn't like each other, but I don't imagine for a second that this was about the boy from District 4. Otherwise Cato would have waited for Arturo to kill Peeta before convincing Clove to throw the knife. This is all about Peeta, but why? What does he have that the Careers want?

I continue to watch as the Careers gather threateningly around Peeta, who is cowering on the floor, staring up at them in a mixture of fear, confusion and revulsion at the body of the boy that lies across his legs. He doesn't understand why Clove killed Arturo any more than I do.

I strain my ears to hear what they're saying but can only catch the odd word. Cato moves forwards and rests the point of a spear on Peeta's chest, directly over his heart. Peeta's response to his words and actions is to nod his head frantically, obviously agreeing to whatever is being asked of him. He says something in response and as I distinguish the word 'Katniss' I suddenly realise what the Careers want and what Peeta is using as a bargaining tool to save his miserable, cowardly life. He is the one person in the arena who can tell the Careers everything they need to know about the girl for whom he openly declared his love live on national television, the hated girl who is clearly at the very top of the hit-list of the Hunger Games' newest wolf pack, and I can see now that he means to betray her.

As Glimmer nonchalantly kicks Arturo's body away from Peeta and he allows Cato to help him to his feet, all I can feel for the boy from the coal district is hate. Perhaps I feel some of that hate on Katniss' behalf, although I have no idea why I would. I've never even spoken to the girl. It's more likely that it is his act of betrayal I hate more than him himself. I have felt betrayal keenly since I was a young girl, since the day my own mother abandoned me without even so much as a goodbye. Since that day I have valued loyalty above any other virtue, and as I will never be in a position where I can make her pay for what she did to me, some part of me hopes that Peeta will not be let off so lightly. I hope Katniss works it out. I hope she sees his treachery before it's too late and makes him suffer for what he did. Anyway, not only is he cowardly and deceitful but he's stupid as well, and there is no characteristic I despise more than stupidity. Can he not see that as soon as Cato and Clove think they have gathered every useful piece of information from him that they can, they will kill him as quickly as they killed Arturo?

I have been so intently observing the events at the Cornucopia that it takes me a couple of seconds to register that the noise coming from behind me is too loud to be caused by any animal. How could I be so dim-witted? All this time I have spent watching the group in front of me so intently, paying no regard to my closer surroundings, has obviously given another the opportunity to creep up on me. A couple of seconds later and it would have been too late for me to do anything to defend myself or escape. Even the girl from District 3, in the unlikely event that she is still alive, could have finished me off easily.

As it is, I have enough time to frantically check all of the Careers are still in sight, currently sorting through the supplies by the lake, before deciding that if my attacker is not one of them then defence rather than flight is the best option. I draw my knife from the waistband of my trousers and edge slowly out of my hiding place, determined not to reveal myself until the last possible minute.

The sound of the person moving around in the undergrowth gets louder and it becomes clear that they are not trying to conceal their presence, most likely because they don't know I'm here. My first thought is to creep back into the bushes and let the other tribute pass by in ignorance, but I realise that I can't do that. If I genuinely want to go home then I'm going to have to kill sooner or later, and it may as well be sooner. I will not get a better opportunity to rid the arena of one more opponent. I hope it's one of the ones I haven't spoken to before, whose name I don't know. I keep telling myself that if it is then making the kill will be easier, mostly because that's the only way I can force myself to go through with my plan. I know really that if I succeed in killing whoever is on the other side of the clearing in the trees then their face will be with me until the day I die. The face of the first person whose life I took in order to save my own, staring accusingly at me in my mind for all eternity.

Despite my thoughts, the overwhelming instinctive desire to survive wins and I dive out of the foliage, racing across the narrow space, knife raised in attack.

* * *

I am so intent on my attack, focused solely on my purpose so I don't change my mind, that I've grabbed the person, a boy, around the neck from behind and held my knife to his throat before I realise who he is. The knife drops to the floor, the muscles in my hand instinctively reacting to the shock I feel at what I almost did.

"Alecto," I gasp. "I thought you were dead."

I scurry around him so we stand facing each other on 'his' side of the narrow clearing, only partly hidden by the branches and leaves.

"Almost," he says, removing his hand from a gaping wound in his stomach. He swiftly returns the hand when blood starts to gush from the wound. He looks slightly green.

"What happened?" I ask in a low voice, still conscious that we are only a short distance from the Cornucopia. When he replies, it soon becomes apparent that even something as simple as talking is a great effort for him.

"I tried to run, really I did," he wheezes, struggling for breath. "But I froze for a second after the gong went off and after that it was too late. I wasn't as quick as you, Lysandra. The boy tribute from District 1 threw a spear at me. When I fell down, he thought I was dead but I pulled the spear out and crawled away. I saw you running. Why did you come back?"

"I can't bear to sit waiting alone in the middle of nowhere, wondering whether I will die of thirst before one of the other tributes finds me and kills me. At least here I can see what's happening."

I know I should kill him, or if I can't bring myself to do that then I should at least put as much distance between us as I can, so that when the Careers find him, and they surely will, then they won't find me too, but he looks so pathetic standing there, looking like he's about to fall down, that I can't leave him. I think of his family, his mother and his six brothers and sisters, imagining what they must be feeling now as they see him slowly dying before their eyes, completely powerless to do anything. This strengthens my resolve, persuading me to deviate, for the short term anyway, from one of the most important aspects of my strategy, which is to operate alone at all times and to associate with and trust no other.

"Sit down over here," I say gently, taking his arm, guiding him to a nearby tree and helping him to sit down with his back leaning against it. "I'll have to look at your wound. I don't know much about medicine or first aid but I am sure Marcus and Viola are watching, they will send us what we need."

I try to keep my voice upbeat and optimistic, despite knowing that the chances of District 5 winning the favour of enough sponsors to enable our mentors to send us anything that could help him now are next to non-existent. As I slowly move his hand away from the wound and see exactly how deep the spear has gone, I begin to doubt that even the finest surgeons in the Capitol could save his life. A single tear rolls down my cheek despite my best efforts not to cry, a tear of anger and frustration at all of the pain and suffering that the Capitol have caused as well as one of sadness for the boy who I have come to think of as a friend, regardless of my best efforts to avoid doing so.

Although he may not be clever enough to be recruited by the laboratories back home, Alecto isn't stupid, and he reads my thoughts from my face.

"It's bad, isn't it? Am I going to die, Lysandra?" he asks, tears flowing freely down both sides of his face.

"Of course not," I say, but this time my voice lacks its previous conviction.

He reaches down to the ground, his whole body shaking with the effort and the pain that results from this small movement. I try to push him upright again, but he persists, his hand scrabbling on the floor until he reaches what he's searching for. I reflexively jump backwards when he lifts up my knife and points it towards me, but I return swiftly to his side when he turns it around and presents the handle to me.

"Do it, Lysa," he says. "End it now. I can't bear the pain any longer and I won't sit here and wait for District 1 to find me and finish what he started."

I'm so shocked by what he says that I don't even think to comment on his use of the diminutive form of my name, which I would never have tolerated from him before. I take the knife from him but move no closer. The practical and rational part of me can see why he's asking me to do this. I think that if our positions were reversed then I would be asking the same of him, and, after all, it's plain to see that he's going to die anyway. Every other part of me is screaming inside. How can I take the life of this boy? What right have I got to do that? I should never have been put in the position where I have the power of life and death over him. I wonder if this is what President Snow feels when he sends the twenty-four tributes into the arena every year, knowing that twenty-three of them will not be alive when they leave. I somehow doubt it. If he felt this much pain at the thought then he would never be able to allow the Hunger Games to take place.

"Please," he begs, "just make the pain stop."

I raise the knife and place the tip of the blade on his chest, guessing the exact position of his heart to the best of my ability, standing up and bracing my legs so I will be able to put my whole weight behind the blade when I push it into him.

Then the knife falls back to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Alecto, but I can't do it. I couldn't live with myself if I murdered you."

"It wouldn't be murder," he says, picking up the knife once more. "Not if I want you to do it."

"No, I won't do it. That's my final word on the subject."

He looks up at me and sighs deeply, grimacing with the pain. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself back to his feet, only just managing not to fall back down again.

"If you won't help me then I'll have to do it myself."

"You can't," I say loudly, now forgetting the need to stay quiet as much as he has.

I reach for the knife and we tussle over it for a few seconds. He has no strength left and I easily pull it from his grasp. Too easily. I scream as he falls forwards into me just as the first cannon fires, the handle of an intricately carved knife protruding from his back.

My head snaps up as I frantically search the clearing and I immediately see Clove as she takes another knife from her jacket and preparing to throw again. This time I'm her target, and I have never seen her miss. I turn and run for my life to the sound of cannon fire ringing out across the arena. One cannon for every dead tribute, all fired one after the other on the first day, when there are always too many fatalities to keep track of as they happen. I wonder if there will be a cannon fired for me. Will my photograph appear in the sky tonight? As I hear the whistle of the knife flying through the air towards me I decide it's more than likely.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

If I wasn't running for my life then this would actually be funny. I think I've done more running in the past few hours than in all of the hours that make up the rest of my life added together. Ever since I entered the arena I have been running. Running away from the Cornucopia, running _back _to the Cornucopia and now running from the girl who I'm sure is focussed solely on causing my death. Every dead tribute is one tribute less and all that. No mercy.

Another knife sails past my head, missing me by inches only because I moved to the side at the last possible moment. I can't go on like this. There's no chance of me outrunning Clove, who has a stride twice the length of mine and is exceptionally fit from her lifetime of training, so I will have to come up with another plan. As I continue my sprint along the path I try to look up at the trees, searching for a suitable one to hide in, but they are all either too small or the lowest branches are not quite low enough for me to reach. Anyway, climbing won't do me much good if she sees where I've gone. I'm certain that she could put a knife in me as easily as she did with the targets in training and I'm not quite at the stage where my exhaustion has overcome my pride to the extent that I'm willing to provide the girl from District 2 with an opportunity for target practice.

I turn sharply to the right, away from the path, dragging myself through tiny gaps in the trees and bushes. They rip at the fabric of my clothes to cut into the skin underneath. Despite the pain from the scratches and the fact that every muscle in my body is screaming in protest, begging me to stop running, I carry on in what I hope is the direction of the tall tree I'd seen when I first returned to the Cornucopia, knowing that the consequences of stopping would be both more permanent and considerably more painful than those of continuing.

Although I can still hear Clove following me, she is further back now, and the closeness of the branches and thick foliage prevents her from throwing more knives. Now all I need to do is find that tree and climb it before she sees where I've gone.

I breathe a sigh of relief and stop for a couple of seconds when I've squeezed through a vaguely familiar gap between two huge bushes that I recognise as being positioned in the same clearing as my tree. Clove might be small for a Career but she's still twice my size, so I'm positive that she couldn't follow me now, not by the same route anyway. I leave the bush and run across the clearing to the tree before climbing as high as I can, hoping that even if she finds me, which I doubt will happen, she will not think of looking upwards.

Less than a minute later, my heart skips at least two beats and I almost fall out of the tree when Clove steps into the clearing, confident and totally without fear. How did she track me so easily? It isn't supposed to be like this. Careers are supposed to be brainless killing machines, but she really is a lot cleverer than I gave her credit for. Significantly more intelligent than the average Career.

She looks down at the floor for a second before looking directly at the base of the tree in which I sit, trapped with no means of escape. I look down at the floor myself and can clearly see the imprints of my boots in the grass. How can I sit here calling the Careers stupid when I've made such a stupid and basic mistake myself? When I consider my stupidity I think I just about deserve my fate.

She walks purposefully in my direction and draws two knives out of the lining of her jacket, sliding the blades across each other so they make an awful scraping sound. Intimidation must be a subject that's specifically taught back at Career School because this one really is an expert. If it is then I'm sure that Clove gets the top grade every time. I smile to myself at the thought but I have no idea what I could possibly find amusing. Less than a day in the arena and I've already witnessed the deaths of at least seven tributes, including one who I had come to think of as my friend, and I'm now cornered in a tree by one half of what is possibly the deadliest partnership the Hunger Games have ever seen. Just as I think it would be impossible for my situation to get worse, a harsh male voice calls out across the clearing from the direction of the lake.

"What are you doing out here? He won't finish dividing up the supplies or go out hunting without you."

As I see an expression of utmost malevolence pass over Clove's face when she hears and recognises the voice, the only positive I can think of is that the voice doesn't belong to Cato. The boy from District 1 appears through the trees, his bravado very visibly disappearing when he sees Clove standing there with a scowl on her face and her knives drawn. I feel a certain admiration for her as, in a cruel world where strength and fighting ability are everything, where I imagine women are often seen as the weaker sex, she has clearly succeeded in overcoming these difficulties. The only tribute in the Games who doesn't seem to fear her is Cato, and even he treats her with what my father would have called a 'healthy level of respect'. At least I appear to have been temporarily forgotten.

"A bit of hunting," she says. "I got the one from District 5."

"The fox-girl?" he asks. What have I done to attract such attention to myself? After all the effort I made to appear average and unthreatening, why is it that his first thought was of me and not Alecto?

"No, the boy." I flatten my back against the trunk of the tree, not even daring to breathe as she looks up. "The girl got away. I would have got her if you hadn't interrupted."

But I'm in the tree. Even if she can't see me then she knows I'm here, doesn't she? Or maybe she doesn't. Maybe because I've tricked them in the past she thinks the tracks I left leading up to the tree were another trick, deliberately put there to confuse her. My sly and elusive act in the interview seems to have achieved something after all.

"Well, are you coming back to the camp then?"

"Not because you're telling me to, District 1. Be careful you don't forget how precarious life can be in the arena," she replies, her voice low and dangerous.

"You mean I might meet my end in the same way that Arturo did? No, you need me. And Glimmer and Varia. You won't kill me."

"Won't I? I know you're arrogant but do you genuinely believe that _I _need _you_? If you can explain to me exactly why I need you alive then perhaps I won't kill you. Right now you're irritating us and you seem pretty expendable to me."

He clearly doesn't know what to say to her because he turns and vanishes back into the undergrowth. After a couple of minutes she follows him, without returning the knives to her jacket. This is obviously the aftermath of an existing argument, probably relating to the death of Arturo and the reason why he was killed. From my admittedly limited time observing the still nameless boy from District 1, I can easily believe that he doesn't have the intelligence to comprehend what Cato and Clove are trying to achieve with Peeta, and, when watching the Games on the television in previous years, I had noticed that once the first Career is killed by one of his or her allies, the whole alliance usually breaks down soon after. I bet District 1 is just worried, I would say with good reason, that he will be next.

I also bet he didn't realise that Clove probably revealed a lot more than she intended to in her anger, but I did. I noticed that District 1 was irritating 'us' not 'me' and now I'm wondering what will happen if the only tributes left alive in the end both come from District 2. Not that I would be alive to see it if that was the case but I can't imagine it being an easy fight.

Suddenly everything goes completely silent apart from a single whistle from one of the mockingjays perched in the branches above me. One of the Capitol hovercrafts appears and drifts silently over the treetops for a short distance before releasing a set of metal teeth, which drop down and disappear into the trees.

I quickly look away a few seconds later when the teeth are pulled back into the hovercraft. This time they are closed around the tall, thin body of a very familiar dark-haired boy who still has a knife in his back. Alecto. I had thought he would have been taken away by now. The Gamemakers were probably waiting for Clove to finish me off so they wouldn't have to make a return journey. I don't feel the slightest bit sorry that I've disappointed them. As I watch, the hovercraft rises up a bit higher and then disappears into thin air, leaving no sign it had been there at all. The mockingjays start singing again.

I don't know how much time passes while I sit in the tree, trying to make sense of the day's seemingly senseless events. I think of Alecto, probably already back in the Capitol, where he will be washed and dressed in clean clothes before being put in a simple wooden box so he can be returned to his family in District 5. I've seen the arrival of these wooden boxes before. A hovercraft usually lowers them right into the main square before leaving them to be surrounded by relatives, who are forced to grieve in a place where they can easily be observed by the rest of the district and filmed so the whole country can witness the consequences of its failed rebellion. I imagine Alecto's mother and siblings surrounding his coffin, remembering his outburst during our train journey to the Capitol and wondering if they really will starve because he's no longer there to provide for them. I honestly don't know, but from what little knowledge I have of the way of life for the poor people of District 5, I'm not optimistic.

When my thoughts turn to my own wooden box, I hope Cassie collects my body without crying, without showing any emotion at all. They probably wouldn't even notice, but I don't want her to give the Capitol the satisfaction of seeing they have caused her pain.

I look up at the sky through the branches and see that it's starting to go dark. Every night in the arena the anthem of Panem is played prior to the photographs of the tributes who have died that day being projected onto a giant screen for all those remaining to see. It had been part of my plan to be well away from all of the others by mid afternoon, hidden somewhere safe so I could listen to the cannon fire and at least work out the number of tributes who had survived if not their identities. However as I was desperately running flat out to escape from Clove when the cannons fired, I find myself relying almost totally on the death recap for information.

I already know for certain that other than Arturo, all of the Careers survived the first day, as did Peeta the Betrayer. From what I saw of the beginning of the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, I can also guess that Katniss, the object of his betrayal, also got away, as she was running from the dead District 9 boy towards the woods at the same time as I was. The only other survivors of the bloodbath who I can identify with any real confidence are Thresh, who I saw vanishing into the void on the other side of the Cornucopia, little Rue, who was right when she had told Caesar Flickerman that she would be very difficult to catch and had sprinted away from Cato like she had wings, and, surprisingly, Lucas from District 10, who had taken full advantage of the chaos to vanish into the trees directly behind him. He had moved quicker than I would have thought possible with his disability, and I wonder whether that was simply because fear for his life gave him power and strength he didn't know he possessed or, more sinisterly, that he has been exaggerating the extent of the problem with his foot ever since I watched him hobble to the stage on the day of the reaping.

I carefully reach above my head to stretch the tired muscles of my arms then begin to descend from the tree. The death recap won't be shown until it's fully dark and I'm very conscious of the fact I have no water. I feel thirsty already and I know I won't be able to last longer than a couple of days with nothing to drink. The problem is that my only source of water is the lake I saw this morning. The lake that is most likely surrounded by fully armed and rested Careers. Still, as I have no alternative I will have to try. Hopefully they'll have gone out tribute-hunting by now. Without leaving a guard on the supplies. I laugh silently to myself. With Clove and Cato in charge that's about as likely as President Snow cancelling the Games and telling us we can all go home.

As I take up position in what has now become my usual bush because of it's thick, dense foliage, I can see the Careers are preparing to leave the camp, laughing and joking as they arm themselves. None of them appear particularly relaxed, and I find myself thinking the same thing that I thought in the Training Centre dining room, which is that they're hiding behind their jokes and arrogance, trying to convince themselves that they feel no fear as much as they are trying to convince each other. I wonder if the cameras are on me now. I can almost see the shallow and heartless Capitol people on the edges of their seats, half hoping the Careers will find me. I also imagine Cassie sitting on the edge of her seat for a different reason as I hear her voice in my head, cursing me for taking such a great risk and hoping I stay safe at the same time.

Glimmer walks out of the Cornucopia and crosses over to where Cato stands. As she hands him the package she was carrying with her most winning smile, I can see she hasn't given up on him yet. Idiot. Anyone with half a brain can see she isn't the member of the alliance he wants.

"What's this?" he asks, his voice not quite as aggressive as normal but certainly offering her no encouragement.

"Night vision glasses," she replies, smiling sweetly and flicking her hair, which is still immaculate despite a day in the arena. "I thought you should have a pair."

What I wouldn't give to have a pair of those glasses. If I had those then I wouldn't have to hide at night. I could wait for the guard to lose concentration or fall asleep then creep down to the lake. If I could see where I was going then I could easily get there without walking into anything or making a noise. The Careers get everything good. Do the Gamemakers not think that their weapons training gives them enough of an advantage already? Obviously not. And watching the Careers hunt down the rest of us is the most entertaining part of the Games to some of the people in the Capitol.

Cato unfastens the bag and I can see in the dim light that there are two pairs of glasses there. Glimmer is looking up at him hopefully, and the expression of disappointment and frustration on her face is clearly visible when he hands the second pair of glasses to Clove. Cato is as oblivious to the girl from District 1 as ever but Clove definitely isn't. By the way she looks from Cato to Glimmer and back again, it's apparent she's guessed that, although Cato is undoubtedly good-looking in an overly violent Career Tribute sort of way, there is another reason why the other girl wants his affection. Clove knows exactly how unsuccessful Glimmer's plan is proving to be and she smirks to herself as Cato pushes her in the direction of Varia, who is armed and ready to enter the woods in search of more victims. As they all head off towards the woods I can't believe my luck. Not only will I have access to the lake but I will have my pick of the supplies too.

However, my luck doesn't last long as Clove stops and calls the rest of the group back.

"Somebody has to guard the supplies, there are some sly foxes in this arena."

"I'll stay," says Peeta.

"I don't think so, District 12," she replies quickly.

"Why not?" asks Cato. "I'm sure he remembers what'll happen to him if he crosses us."

"They're notoriously stupid in District 12, Cato. And he betrayed his lover so easily that I don't trust his memory."

"There was nothing to betray. I've told you already that the thing with Katniss was all an act," says Peeta with the slightest hint of desperation in his voice.

"You're a very convincing actor then. And I don't trust you."

"If she was really his lover then he wouldn't turn against her so easily," adds Glimmer, seemingly desperate to be part of the discussion.

"Don't be so naïve," snaps Cato. "He wants to survive as much as everyone else. He would do whatever it takes."

"Would you give up your lover to your enemies so easily?" Glimmer asks, with a pointed glance in Clove's direction.

This single comment causes me to revise my opinion of her rather rapidly. It suddenly seems all too possible that she's been using her beauty and seeming lack of intelligence as a cover all this time. I should have given more thought to the possibility when she scored nine in training. After all, the Gamemakers don't hand out nines in exchange for a pretty smile.

"I would die before I betrayed my lover, as she would die before she betrayed me. This conversation is irrelevant. The other tributes could have made it half way to the Capitol in the time it's taken us to have this pointless debate. Varia, you stay."

"Why should you get all of the fun? You stay."

Clove walks a step towards the other girl, taking a knife from her jacket. Varia does the same, but Cato moves to stand between them.

"I've had enough of this! Varia, just go back to the supplies," he shouts. "Everyone will have to be on guard duty at some point and tonight it's your turn."

She turns and meekly walks away, not quite willing to take on her fellow Careers at this stage, probably with Arturo's death still prominent in her thoughts.

I take a deep breath as the Careers minus Varia enter the woods and disappear quickly from sight. Typically, Varia has taken up position at the edge of the lake, where both the supplies from the Cornucopia and the lake itself are clearly visible. My only chance will be to return to the relative safety of my tree and come back later in the hope that she has fallen asleep.

* * *

A short time later I'm sitting in my tree staring into space, half-heartedly listening for signs that another tribute is close by, when the sky abruptly lights up and the seal of the Capitol appears. I'd forgotten about the death recap. As the anthem plays, I wonder how many innocent children and young adults have lost their lives today in the name of entertainment, and as punishment for a crime that had been committed before their parents had even been born. I'll know soon enough.

They're using the same head shots they had used to display the training scores, the ones taken on the day of the reaping. As I know all too well that Arturo was the only Career fatality, I'm unsurprised when the first photo is of the girl from District 3, however I am surprised that her male counterpart is alive to see day two. He was obviously very lucky but I can't imagine his luck lasting much longer. I don't remember anything about him other than his dismal training score of three.

The next to appear after Arturo's sneering face is Alecto, and I flinch when I see him, his dark eyes already looking so frightened following the reaping. At least his suffering is over. I'm sure mine is only just beginning. There are no more surprises then. Both tributes from Districts 6, 7 and 9 appear, along with the boy from 8 and the girl from 10. Eleven dead in all, slightly higher than average but nothing that will worry the Gamemakers, who, not wanting to disappoint the viewers back in the Capitol, tend to respond to a very high or very low bloodbath death toll by acting in a way that will ensure either quicker or more entertaining deaths for the tributes who remain.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know I'm clinging to a branch to stop myself from falling out of the tree, awoken by what my sleeping mind took to be a bomb exploding but what I can now say was cannon fire. I wonder whose cannon it was. If I had to guess I would say it was for the boy from 3, but as there's no way of finding out for sure until tonight, I will have to wait and see.

With difficulty, I pull myself back onto the branch and look up at the sky. Although it's still dark, the pale light on the horizon shows me it's almost dawn. If I assume the cannon fire indicated the Careers had found a victim, and then that they intend to rest during the day and hunt at night, now is my last chance to get water from the lake before they return to camp. So many assumptions, so many risks to take. If they catch me then there is only one outcome, but the logical, rational part of my mind tells me there is only one outcome to being without water too. With thoughts of a long and painful death from dehydration spinning around in my head, I get down from the tree and head back to the lake, hoping the hunters won't have returned and that Varia will have fallen asleep.

When I get there it's too dark to see anything clearly. I can just about see Varia, still sitting by the edge of the lake, but I can only see her because I know where to look. If I hadn't been spying on them earlier then I could very easily have walked straight into her. She isn't moving but that doesn't mean she's asleep. I will have to wait a bit longer, until it gets a little bit lighter, before I try to sneak past.

I sit waiting for a few minutes as the sky gradually lightens, my gaze never wavering from the Career girl, who still hasn't moved an inch. I take the water bottle out of my bag as quietly as I can, ready to make a run to the lake. If I can get far enough away and take the top off the bottle now then maybe I can run to the lake, get water and still have time to run and hide. 'You've escaped before, Lysandra,' says the nagging voice in my head, 'and Clove is more of a threat than Varia'. I stand up and get ready to run but suddenly crouch back down again, my attention attracted by a rustling sound in the bushes a few metres to my left.

A small boy steps out into the open, his thoughts clearly focussed only on the lake. He has no idea Varia is there and his pace quickens as he gets nearer to the water, thinking he's made it. I watch the whole scene as if it's playing in slow motion as Varia rises silently to her feet and moves over to stand behind him. She is lifting him up off the ground before he even realises she's there. He cries out in shock and panic and I look away, waiting for the cannon to fire.

When the cannon doesn't sound I look back to see the boy, who I now recognise as the one from District 3, the one I assumed had died earlier, lying on the floor at Varia's feet. Although they are too far away for me to hear what he's saying, the boy is very obviously pleading for his life. I'm surprised he's being given the opportunity. Careers are not usually known for their patience and fairness.

Whatever he's saying must be good, because Varia appears to be truly interested in what he's telling her, making no further attempts to end his life as he frantically talks, gesturing with his hands, mostly in the direction of the Cornucopia. When he has finally run out of words, she pulls him back to his feet by his shirt collar and pushes him back to the main camp. Good, I think, now I may be able to hear what they're saying and work out what's actually going on.

"Sit down there," says Varia harshly. "If you move a muscle then I'll kill you."

The boy does as he is instructed, saying nothing, and the two tributes sit in silence for several minutes, the tall, powerful Career and the tiny boy, who looks like he's never seen a decent meal never mind eaten one. Every so often Varia turns to look to the gap in the trees through which her allies had disappeared through earlier. She is obviously waiting for their return before doing anything with her prisoner. What did he say to her? What use could he possibly be? The silence gets to much for her soon after, so she returns to tormenting the boy. I'm not surprised.

"Can you really do what you said? Your death will be very painful if you've been telling me lies."

Once again the boy says nothing, and he stares over Varia's shoulder at the woods. I follow his eyes and see the rest of the Careers and Peeta, who I should probably count as one of them now, returning. Cato and District 1 are arguing about something, and from the tired expressions on the faces of Clove and Glimmer, I guess the argument has been going on for a while.

"If you'd done the job properly in the first place then there wouldn't have been a problem, would there?"

"I thought she was dead," answers District 1. "She looked dead."

"She wasn't dead when Lover Boy went back, was she?" growls Cato.

"You won't last very long if you don't know the difference between dead and alive," adds Clove, attempting to put an end to the conversation. "Maybe I should teach you…"

Both Cato and District 1 open their mouths to answer her but everyone stops speaking when they see Varia standing over the boy from District 3, who is once again lying on the ground at her feet. Cato draws his sword and stalks towards them.

"What are you playing at?" he asks Varia, pushing her roughly out of the way as he raises the sword and points it straight at the terrified boy.

"He could be very useful to us. Just give me a chance to explain."

He thinks for a minute before he speaks. "Very well. Boy, go over there and wait. If you move-"

"Yes, I know, I will die a long and painful death," he finishes, speaking for the first time in my earshot. I'm impressed he can to speak at all considering the amount he's shaking.

"Don't interrupt," snaps Clove, slapping him across the face so hard that he falls back to the ground. "Just go over there, and if you move then you will suffer the same fate as the bag you'll be sitting on."

The boy follows her gaze to one of the fabric supply bags that is resting on the ground a short distance from the entrance to the Cornucopia. He's clearly confused by what she said but is also far too afraid to question her. However her meaning soon becomes apparent when, in the space of a couple of seconds, she throws three knives, one after the other, into the bag.

"Don't forget," she says.

I'm suddenly torn between wanting to know what the boy is offering the Careers in exchange for his life and the need for water. The need for water wins, largely due to the fact they are all so distracted that there won't be a better opportunity for me to get to the lake, so I move slowly backwards out of the bush and back around to the place where the trees are closest to the lake. With one final look at the Careers, who are all sitting in a small circle in deep discussion about the fate of the boy from 3 and paying absolutely no attention to their water supply, I dart out from my shelter and plunge the water bottle into the lake. It only takes a couple of seconds for the bottle to fill up and before I know it I'm back hidden in the trees, standing with a hand over my rapidly beating heart. Lysandra: 2, Careers: 0, I think to myself as I gasp for breath. Already I have escaped Clove and now I've taken water from them when they were only metres away. So far so good.

* * *

I quickly decide the next part of my plan has to be to find a wider range of hiding places. I must try not to go to the same place all of the time because if I do then it's only a matter of time before they find me. I feel like I've been awake for days and all I really want to do is sleep, but I force myself to keep walking and searching. I would estimate that it's mid-afternoon when I finally stop, placing the last of the purple flowers that I'd gathered on the floor in front of a tall tree that has many branches which are thick with leaves and blossom. The flowers were the only thing I could think of using to mark suitable hiding places that would not be obvious to any other people who passed by but would be easily visible to me if I needed to disappear in a hurry. I sincerely hope I live long enough to know my way around without leaving markers but right now I can't help thinking that were Marcus to send me anything, the best possible present would be a map of this part of the arena.

I go to move into the next clearing but quickly stop when I hear the sound of footsteps ahead. I peer through a gap in the foliage, expecting to see that one of the Careers has decided to begin their hunting early, so am surprised to see Lucas, the boy with the crippled foot from District 10, leaning down to gather berries from a nearby plant. I silently pull my knife out of the waistband of my trousers and creep towards him. Can I kill him? I don't know. I certainly don't want to, but I have to, don't I? He will surely die sooner or later, as if I don't kill him then the chances are someone else will.

I'm only a couple of metres behind him when I realise absolutely nothing has changed since Alecto's death. I still can't do it. I can't kill this boy. What has he ever done to me? I refuse to end his life for no better reason than because the Capitol expect me to.

"I could have killed you by now," I say in a low voice.

He almost falls over when he spins around to face me. "Why haven't you then? Have you been missing the whole point of the Hunger Games for all these years?"

I simply stare at him for a few seconds in stunned silence. Of all the responses I thought I might get, this anger and defiance definitely wasn't one of them.

"I would have thought you'd be grateful I spared your life. I could have been one of the Careers, you really should be more careful."

"I don't owe you anything, Lysandra," he says as he hobbles further away from me. "I'm not as easy to kill as you think."

"I crept up on you easily enough then," I reply, getting slightly annoyed now.

"You were lucky."

I laugh. "I think you're the lucky one, Lucas," I say, letting him know that I know his name too, and that he's not the only one who's been carefully monitoring the opposition.

"Maybe this time," he concedes with a slight smile. "That doesn't mean I owe you any favours."

"I never said you did."

"I'll go this way and you go that way then, and we'll pretend this conversation never happened."

"If you like," I say, but as he walks away, I can't resist calling after him. "How do you manage in here? I mean with your leg the way it is."

He turns back to me, staring into my eyes as if trying to decide whether I'm making fun of him or asking a serious question. "It's my foot that's crippled, not my brain. I've been adapting to it for my whole life, why should this be any different?"

"I don't mean…I didn't mean to patronise you. I'm just surprised you've avoided the Careers for so long. They're not stupid this year."

"I've avoided them by not being stupid either. You don't have the monopoly on intelligence, District 5."

I nod to him, conceding the point. "I didn't mean to be arrogant, I'm just surprised, that's all. I underestimated you."

"Good luck, Lysandra."

"Good luck," I reply, watching him disappear into the trees. If he had been born in District 5, then I suspect I would probably have been working with him in the labs. We could even have been friends. As I think that I compare him to Alecto. While Alecto didn't have the courage and intelligence that Lucas obviously has, I can see similarities in the two boys who have been torn away from their families, forced into a horrifying situation that they cannot hope to control. I still don't think the boy from District 10 will leave this arena alive, but leaving aside the fact I would have to die in order for him to do so, I find myself wishing he could. When he spoke to me he knew he should be dead, but he still answered with pride and defiance in his voice, pride and defiance that I hope I will have when the time comes for me to face my own death.

* * *

As night begins to fall I give up exploring for the night and return to the tree I'd discovered just before I saw Lucas. The tree is a very good place in which to conceal myself from the eyes of the hunting Careers, but I do wish I could find a refuge that's a bit nearer to the ground. After all, I don't want a repetition of this morning the next time they find another victim. My grip on the branch might not be so good next time and I really don't want to suffer the indignity that will result from the whole of Panem waking up to replays of me falling out of a tree.

I must have fallen asleep because it's already light when I wake up, the sun shining brightly through the leaves. I eat what little is left of the food I had in my pack and drink as small a quantity of water as I can. I only have half a bottle left now and am very aware that I'm not drinking enough. I will have to run the gauntlet of the lake again soon. Not now though. Now I'm going to find somewhere else to hide that preferably doesn't involve climbing.

The sun is high in the sky by the time I find a place. It is yet another tree, but not of the variety that I will have to climb. This tree is long dead and completely hollow, with a trunk easily wide enough for me to sit inside in relative comfort. As I stand there looking at it I can see that all I will have to do is construct some kind of screen to put over the top and I will be totally camouflaged. It's so good that it could almost be a gift from a sponsor. Not that I have any sponsors, I'm sure. Despite my spying on the Careers, I don't think I've been anywhere near exciting enough to earn them.

As I prepare to gather screen-construction materials, I push away all thoughts of Marcus and Viola and of how I have not had a thing from them yet. The way I feel at the moment, I think I would be pathetically grateful to receive even something as useless as shampoo for my hair or a replica of my interview dress. Anything to let me know they are there watching, that I'm not utterly alone. Still, there's no point thinking about it. So far, I have been a lot luckier than some.

By late afternoon I've managed to weave together a number of twigs and leaves to form a basic screen, which I then covered with larger branches and plants before using it to cover the top of the tree. As I stand surveying my work, I feel quite pleased with myself. It looks natural rather than man-, or should I say woman-, made and I smile proudly for the cameras, hoping that the camouflage trainer is watching me now.

I decide to try out my new hiding place for a short time before attempting to get to the lake again, so I gather a few berries from a nearby bush, one that training has taught me definitely falls into the edible category, and climb into the tree before lowering the screen back down. It's a bit dark and damp inside, but it's certainly preferable to another night spent either high up in a tree or out in the open, an easy target for whichever Career finds me first.

When I wake up and lift the screen I'm shocked to see that it's almost dark. 'Stupid idiot', I say to myself under my breath. How could I have fallen asleep? Now the Careers have probably left their camp and I have no idea in which direction they've gone. I hastily pull the screen back down when I realise they could be only metres away from me right now. For the next couple of minutes I'm too scared to even breathe, waiting to see if the screen will be pulled out of position by a hunter who has found its prey, but when nothing happens my ability to think gradually returns.

I will have to wait here until dawn now. Although I need more water and will have to attempt to get some more food, it will be safer to wait until then. Especially when the alternative is creeping blindly around in the dark attempting to evade detection by people who have night vision glasses.

I change position as best I can, but this really isn't the most comfortable of hiding places. Despite this, I think I'll be able to go to sleep again very easily. It must be lack of food and water combined with the stress because I have never felt so exhausted.

* * *

It must be only a couple of hours later when I wake. At first I don't know why I'm not still asleep, but as I try to take a deep breath, all I can taste is smoke. My breathing suddenly gets faster and faster as my body protests at the lack of air. Blindly I struggle to get up, my fingers scrabbling against the screen, my sheer panic making it seem like it's made of solid metal.

I get a grip on it eventually, and as I lift it up I'm confronted with an impossibly tall wall of fire. We have evidently disappointed the viewers in the Capitol today because this is no natural occurrence. Such a tall and uniform wall of fire could only be a creation of the Gamemakers.

I can see and hear many animals and birds travelling as quickly as they can away from the fire, and despite my panic I have enough sense to follow them, pulling myself up from the ground where I'd fallen when I got out of the tree. All thoughts of the Careers long forgotten, I stumble in the direction of the lake, stopping only when a burning branch lands on my left arm. Although I manage to ignore the pain for long enough to put out the fire that starts in the sleeve of my jacket, I can feel that the burn is deep. The pain seems to shoot through every nerve in my body, and although I've experienced more pain than most, largely due to experiments going wrong in the labs back home, I have never felt anything like this. It really is indescribable and causes a steady flow of tears to run down my cheeks, but that doesn't mean I can afford the luxury of even thinking about it now.

I just reach the edge of the woods before I fall to my knees, unable to stand upright any longer, the smoke so thick in my throat that I'm surprised I'm getting any oxygen at all. 'You must get to the lake', I tell myself, 'you have to keep going'. This seems to strengthen my resolve and I manage to crawl the remaining distance to the water before my surroundings start to spin and everything goes blurry and out of focus.

I hear a shout and my last thoughts are of how I'm about to pass out in full view of the Careers' camp. They might not be there now but if the fire hasn't reached them and they come back then I will be dead for sure. I fight to remain conscious but this is yet another fight I can't win, a regular occurrence these days, and the world turns to black.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Before I even open my eyes, the first thing I feel is the cold. I must have thrown all of the blankets away in the night and, as usual, woken up shivering. I half sit up in attempt to find them again but abruptly lie back down again as the pain in my head feels very much like somebody has stabbed me with a knife and begun to twist it. The thought of a knife brings me back to reality at lightening speed and I sit bolt upright despite the pain, now fully aware of where I am.

I suddenly remember the fire and my desperate struggle to escape from the woods before I was overcome by the smoke. The blinding pain in my arm returns, but I don't have time to think about that yet. I look down at my legs and notice the cause of my shivering. I've been lying unconscious with the bottom half of my body totally submerged in the lake for what, judging by the pale pink light of dawn in the sky, appears to have been all night. No wonder I'm cold.

I fail dismally at standing up, and after my third attempt I give up and crawl a short distance towards the safety of the trees on my hands and knees. As the grogginess begins to fade and I'm able to think a bit more clearly, I truly remember where I am. About a hundred metres from the Careers' camp. Not that I want them here but they should have been back by now. They can't be here though or I would be long dead. Something must be keeping them away, and as the reality of my situation fully sinks in I begin to understand that I owe my life to that something. Or someone.

I sit on the cold floor in my soaking wet clothes, holding my wounded arm to my chest and listening carefully for cannon fire that doesn't sound. Perhaps whichever lamb was holding the attention of the wolf pack has escaped, for now anyway.

Just as I prepare to have a fresh attempt at standing up, which has all of a sudden become the most difficult task in the world, I hear voices coming from the trees on the other side of the Cornucopia. Raised voices, shouting in panic. As they get nearer, they are joined by the frantic pounding of racing footsteps. When the source of the commotion gets close enough for me to distinguish the words, I realise there are many voices, male and female, all shouting the same thing: "To the lake! To the lake!"

The lake that I'm currently sitting in front of. 'Lysandra, move', I order myself, the fear of whatever has caused the Careers to run for their lives making what had a few seconds ago seemed impossible a very easy thing to accomplish.

I reach shelter mere seconds before I see Cato as he races as fast as he can towards the lake, pushing Clove in front of him. Close behind the tributes from District 2 are Peeta and District 1, but the horrific monsters I expect to see chasing them don't appear. So why are they running?

My question is answered when I narrow my eyes to focus on what I had assumed was a cloud of dust that had been kicked up by their running feet. It's not dust, it's a swarm of genetically modified wasps called tracker jackers. Bred as a weapon by the Capitol during the rebellion, they were widely used against the rebels, not only because of their highly toxic venom but also because of their ability to track whoever disturbs their nest, hence the 'tracker'.

As I use tracker jacker venom in some of my experiments at home, I know that it often only takes a few of stings to kill a fully grown man, which of course made them as effective as nuclear bombs when the chosen target was a small group of rebels hiding out in a sparsely populated area. At the very least the venom will leave the victim in an unconscious state, where they have the most awful hallucinations and are forced to live through their worst memories and nightmares. So I've been told anyway.

What could possibly have happened to make them target the Careers though? Was one of them really stupid enough to disturb the nest? Or was it dropped on them by another? If it was then it must have been orchestrated by the Gamemakers, because surely another tribute would not live long enough to be in a position to pull off such a trick, especially without being stung themselves. To attempt such a thing would be suicide.

As the four Careers reach the lake and submerge themselves in the water, trying to avoid the angry insects, I realise that while I might be hidden from them, I'm not so hidden from the tracker jackers. I have never been stung before but I don't think I want to wait around to find out how I'm affected as a result. I turn to run, but am distracted by a movement in the corner of my eye. Another tribute has emerged from the woods.

It's Varia, and she doesn't appear to have been nearly as lucky as her allies. I can see she has been stung many times and that the venom is exerting its effect on her already, slowing her down and preventing her from avoiding further stings. It doesn't take long for her body to succumb, and she crashes to the floor about half way between the trees and the lake. I wouldn't expect the others to help her but as I look in their direction, I see they are ignoring her totally and appear completely unaffected by her death. With friends like that, who needs enemies?

I'm not surprised when, seconds later, Varia's cannon sounds, her body losing its final battle against the venom, but I'm momentarily stunned when a second cannon fires directly after. I look around and for the first time notice that Glimmer is nowhere to be seen. She must still be in the woods. The cannon must have been for her.

As I stare at the body of the dead Career girl I can see, I'm shocked to realise that I feel very little regret at her death. I only feel relief, and that relief is even greater when I think of the death of Glimmer. She might have been, from what I had seen anyway, shallow and self obsessed, but she had scored a nine for something, and, Cato and Clove aside, I counted her as one of my greatest threats.

What are the Games doing to me? What kind of a monster am I turning into? Before I arrived in the arena I never would have imagined I'd be able to think of the deaths of these two girls and be as unaffected as their so called allies. I am worse than the Careers, who never pretended to be anything they're not. 'No!', shouts a voice in my head, 'you are not like them. If you are happy they're dead then it's only because every dead tribute increases your own chances of survival. The desire to stay alive is the most instinctive and natural emotion of any living thing'.

Feeling ever so slightly better, I turn to leave, intending to go back and see what's left of my best hiding place and try to do something with my arm. If I don't at least clean and dress it soon then it won't be a Career's knife that kills me but infection and blood poisoning.

I'm stopped abruptly in my tracks when I feel a sharp stabbing pain in my leg. When I look down I see a single tracker jacker buzzing angrily around my ankles, preparing to sting me once more. Stupid thing - do I look like a Career? Maybe I do to your average genetically modified wasp. I jump back, away from the insect and step through the bushes, trying to get the balance right between going quickly enough to escape the tracker jacker and remaining silent and hidden so that the Careers don't notice my presence. Tracker jackers or not, I don't think they would miss such a good opportunity to rid the arena of another tribute.

Satisfied that my attacker has found another target, I stop for a second, gritting my teeth as I pull the sting from my leg, which has already swollen up with a lump about the size of a plum. It's too late to prevent the inevitable effects of the venom, which will have already entered my bloodstream by now, but I know from my laboratory research that removing the sting will lessen the severity slightly. It starts to ooze green pus and all I can think is that it really does look disgusting. And now I sound as vain as Glimmer, I think laughing to myself before stopping abruptly when I remember that the object of my ridicule is dead.

I have to start moving again. I've already passed out metres away from the Careers' camp once today and I know that I only have a matter of minutes before the tracker jacker venom makes the same thing happen again. As I'm so small it will affect me quickly and when a butterfly that's flying towards me suddenly explodes into a rain of sparks and daggers, I know I don't have long.

"Cato! Come back here now! She can wait! Do you want to die?"

My head snaps around to face the lake again and I see Cato running out of the water back in the direction that he came, closely followed by Peeta, who has a look of panic on his face that I can't explain. After submerging herself in the water for a final time, Clove takes a deep breath and begins to follow.

The last thing I remember is the sound of swords clashing from the direction in which all three tributes disappeared. I wonder if the tracker jacker nest _had _been dropped by another tribute after all. Maybe Cato went back to kill him or her and they were stupid enough to still be there. I assume that the offending tribute is a she from what Clove shouted when Cato left the lake, and from what little I have seen of her, dropping a tracker jacker nest on the Careers seems to be Katniss' style, so I wonder if it was her. That would explain the look on Peeta's face when he was chasing after Cato. Maybe, now the time to face the consequences of his betrayal is getting closer, the traitor is having regrets.

* * *

The leaves of the trees are sparkling and purple and each step I take I sink so deeply into the ground that I can barely lift my feet to continue as I stumble in what I hope is the direction of the place I've come to call my 'den'. After all, it seems appropriate when everyone seems to have taken to knowing me as 'fox-girl'. Suddenly everything starts to spin and I collapse to the ground.

All thoughts of the tree fade away as I make one final effort to pull myself underneath a bush. As soon as I fall exhausted to the ground, the branches and leaves reach down to grab me, twisting around my limbs so I can't escape. I try to crawl away but it's holding me too tight, so tight that I can barely breathe. I reach desperately for my knife but before I can touch it, for the second time in as many days, everything turns black.

Whichever Capitol scientist developed tracker jackers and their venom certainly did a good job. It's widely known across the whole of Panem that the toxin contained in the insect's stings was developed to act by specifically targeting the part of the brain that controls fear, the same part that gives us nightmares. I can say without any doubt at all that it succeeds in achieving the aim of its creators.

Over a seemingly infinite amount of time, I live through the worst nightmares I have ever imagined and quite a few which are so terrible that I couldn't even begin to imagine them when unaffected by the toxin. The scene of my father's removal from Laboratory 7 that I saw from the store cupboard all those years ago is replayed over and over again, and it feels so real that I truly believe I'm there again. I see my father, taken to the Capitol and tortured to death while I watch, powerless to do anything to intervene, and just when I think I'm waking up and that the effects of the venom have finally worn off, I remember Lucius' unspoken threat against Cassie, and see him murdering her in countless different ways, each one worse than the one before.

Then I half wake up, and am able to turn over, which makes me think once more that my torture is over, but then I begin to live through my own death. Several times. First I am slowly tortured by Cato while Clove stands and watches, and every time the sword cuts into my skin the pain seems to be amplified a thousand times. When the scene abruptly changes and it's not Cato and Clove who are my tormentors but Marcus and Alecto, the emotional pain I feel is even worse than the physical.

* * *

When I eventually come back to my senses I can see the pink light of dawn in the sky, but as I stretch my arms and legs, looking for wounds I already know existed only in my imagination, the aches that I feel tell me more time has passed than just a few minutes. How long have I been unconscious for? I can say for definite that it has been at least a day but other than that I have no way of knowing. I reach into my pack for my water bottle, and am relieved to find it where I left it and still half full. I sit quietly sipping my water, slowly recovering as I try to work out what to do next.

Whatever the next stage of the plan is going to be, I can't do anything without water and food, so the only thing I can do first is to go back to the lake. I make my way slowly through the trees, still a bit unsteady on my feet and constantly on the lookout for signs of other tributes. If I had to guess then I would say that all of the remaining Careers had been stung by the tracker jackers and are therefore probably in a similar state to me, but of the others I have no knowledge. Before the attack, at least Thresh, Rue, Katniss and Lucas were still alive and I have no reason to think otherwise now. The way I feel at the moment, even Rue could finish me off easily if she tried, so I make special effort to be silent and as invisible as possible.

When I reach the lake I see no sign of the Careers, so I take advantage of their absence to fill up my water container and deprive them of another one that had been casually abandoned at the water's edge. I peel what is left of my coat sleeve from my arm, but the material has melted into my skin in places, and the pain is so great when I try to remove it that I give up and simply submerge the wound in the water, hoping that doing so will go some way towards making it clean. I know that I need proper medicine to heal it and dressings to keep the dirt away, but I understand the way the Games work by now. The only way I'm going to get what I need is if I have a sponsor who pays for it, and District 5 has had precious few of those in past years and also I haven't seen even the merest hint of one this year. Not even a loaf of bread has been sent my way, so I guess I have little chance of getting hold of expensive Capitol medicine. Still, there's no point sitting here looking miserable. I won't win any support that way.

As I take my bag off my back and loosen the strap, preparing to fill it with food, and with any luck, some dressings for my arm, I look in the direction of the Cornucopia and rapidly stop what I'm doing to stare at it in shock. It's almost totally empty. So where have the supplies gone?

I scan the area around the Cornucopia and notice that everything has been piled up into a large pyramid that is neither sheltered by the golden horn or close enough to the camp for the Careers to defend it easily. I can say for sure that it wasn't like that before the fire, but I suppose they could have moved everything without me noticing at any time after. Despite how essential they are to my survival, the supplies haven't really been my priority for a while. They probably did it in the aftermath of the tracker jacker attack, as even assuming they had all been stung, being at least twice my size, it would have taken longer for the venom to affect them. But why? None of it makes sense. Why leave the food out in the open where any of the other tributes can just help themselves? They haven't even left a guard.

I stare at the supplies for several minutes. There must be more to it than first appears. This is the Hunger Games, it would never be that simple, especially with Cato and Clove in charge. They wouldn't be stupid enough to leave everything like that, would they? Unless they aren't here to guard it. I've been unconscious for at least a day and have no way of knowing whether anyone else's cannon had sounded in that time, but although I have no idea where they are, something tells me that I would know if they were dead.

I hear a rustling in the trees and quickly jump up, expecting to have to run for my life yet again when another tribute races towards me, but it's just a group of mockingjays, which fly away into the distance, calling repeatedly to each other. Everything else is utterly silent. I know I'm being ridiculous but it feels like they are laughing at me for being so stupid. What am I missing here?

I systematically examine the pyramid of supplies, but the only unusual thing I notice, obviously other than the fact that the supplies have been arranged in a huge pyramid, is a net that has been strung up to cover most of the structure. There must be a trap somewhere so maybe it involves the net. I have sudden visions of it falling down to capture any unwary tribute who attempts to steal from the Careers' hoard, but, no, that can't be it. It's just too easy. Even a tribute of below average intelligence could think of a way around a trap like that, and everything that I have seen of Cato and Clove so far tells me that they wouldn't be unintelligent enough to rely on something that simple being effective.

I expand my gaze slightly and my eyes settle on the metal circle that had launched me into the Games. Was it really only six days ago that it all started? It feels like I've been in the arena forever, and I'm finding it increasingly difficult to remember life before the Hunger Games. The thought that even if I were to win, I would never be free of it comes back to me, so I reach into my coat pocket for my copper district token, running my fingers over it and forcing the thoughts from my head, trying to replace them with something better. I continue to stare at the podium, reliving my flight across the face of the Cornucopia, and it is then when I realise that while I saw very little that was unusual about the supply pyramid, there is something very strange about the podiums. The ground surrounding not only my podium but all of the others too has been disturbed, but why? And by whom? Surely not the Gamemakers, as I can't think of a reason why they would need to.

I start to take my hand from my pocket so that I can use my good arm to push myself to my feet, letting go of my district token. When it catches on my finger and tumbles out of my coat to the floor, I suddenly remember what happened to the tribute girl who dropped her token before the Games had started. She had been blown to pieces by landmines. Landmines that surround the podiums. Then, almost miraculously, everything makes sense. What do they have in District 3? Lots of factories. What do many of these factories specialise in designing and making? Explosives. Where does the Careers' newest and most unlikely ally come from? District 3.

The only explanation for the new supply arrangement is that the boy from the factory district has succeeded in doing something I don't think has ever even been attempted by a tribute before. He has reactivated the mines and used them as a bargaining tool with the Careers. His life in exchange for an almost impenetrable defence for their supplies. I wish I could have seen the faces of the Gamemakers when he had managed it. I bet they weren't expecting that one.

I have to admire his intelligence and also his bravery. Not everybody could attempt something like that, knowing failure would mean certain death, and I can imagine the pressure he must have been under when he was working on it. I can picture the now long-dead Varia standing over his shoulder and watching him for the entire time, knowing too well that her life as well as the boy's depended on his success. She was the one that let him live when she captured him by the lake, which meant she would be the one to answer to District 2 if the plan proved to be a disaster.

Now that I fully understand the problem I face, I realise my plan has failed. Despite the probably temporary lack of Careers, I have still lost what is virtually my only food supply as there is no way I can dismantle land mines. If I attempted to then the Capitol tourists who come to visit the arena after the Games have finished would probably still be taking pieces of me away as souvenirs many years later.

As I come to the conclusion that the plan will have to change once more and begin to walk away from the Cornucopia, I laugh to myself. Since the day I saw the other district's reapings I've always considered my main threat to be the Careers, especially Cato and Clove, so I find it ironic that the tribute who is most likely to kill me now is the emaciated, pathetic looking boy from District 3 who, by mining the supplies, has made death by starvation a very real possibility.

* * *

I must have been sitting here for hours, although I have no way of telling exactly how much time has passed. The fire must have been caused by the Gamemakers, because when I returned to my tree expecting it to be completely destroyed, I was amazed to find it still there and precisely as I had left it. Whoever had cleared up even put my screen back over the top.

To start with I had hoped that if I wait then Marcus and Viola might send me something. A sign that I had not been totally abandoned by the audience in the Capitol, who I'm sure are watching me now, waiting for me to lose my mind when I fully comprehend my fate while warm and comfortable in their immaculate houses.

Eventually I realise I'm waiting for support that won't come, and that, as normal, if I want anything to happen then I'll have to rely on myself. I haven't eaten properly since I was put into the arena, and I really am hungry now. Hours of thinking of various plans has shown me that I have two options: a slow death by starvation or an instant death from the mines, with the added bonus that a miracle could happen and I might actually get to the supplies without blowing myself up. There must be a way through or the Careers wouldn't be able to eat either. In the reverse of the Capitol's favourite catchphrase, the odds definitely are not in my favour, but a small chance is better than no chance.

With my newfound resolve, I pull myself out of the tree and head back to the Cornucopia. I seem to have walked this way so often in the past few days that I'm surprised not to see a path starting to appear where my feet have worn down the grass. When I get near I slow my pace and watch the area around the Careers' camp to make sure they haven't returned, but there's no sign of them and everything is in the same position it had been in when I left earlier. I walk cautiously over to the supply pyramid and stop a safe distance away, deciding the best way to approach the task before me.

Once again I'm startled to realise how similar this is to stealing food from the Banquet Hall back home. In that way the landmines are very like the laboratory bosses, as if I'm caught stealing then the consequences will be much the same. Either way I will meet a very unpleasant end a lot sooner than I would wish. Still, at least getting blown up by landmines is quicker than starvation or whatever the Gamemakers may have planned.

I'll be the first to admit that, spying aside, I haven't been the most entertaining of tributes, and everyone in Panem knows that the ones who fail to catch the interest of the viewing public are often the ones who are made an example of by the Gamemakers. After all, the outcry from the Capitol would be huge if their favourite was chased down by starving wild dogs, but if that was the fate of someone who hasn't really made an impact then they would call it entertainment and beg for more. Suddenly I understand that I would rather kill myself than be used like an animal to amuse the mob, and this thought gives me the courage to take another step forwards.

The Capitol scientists in District 5, Octavian and Atia, may have picked me to work in the labs as one of their 'chosen ones' but that doesn't mean I know anything about landmines. 'Think, Lysa. Think logically', I say to myself over and over again as I take tiny steps towards the pyramid. Once more I think of the unfortunate girl and her district token, and I remember that while the mines around her podium all exploded, none of the mines around the tributes standing on either side of her were triggered. That means that providing I stay out of the circular range of each mine then I will be safe. Now all I have to do is hope that District 3 didn't make them overlap.

Slowly, one miniscule step at a time, my heart racing constantly, I make my way towards the main pyramid, taking special care to avoid the small piles of supplies that are littered about the surrounding area. If I was District 3 then I would have mined the smaller piles, hoping that an unwary tribute with no knowledge of the mines would pounce on the nearest thing, thinking either they had escaped any traps by getting that far or that all of the traps were around the main section, so I assume he thought the same thing.

I jump as lightly as I can over a small barrel and then I'm there. The pyramid of supplies towers over my head directly before me. Once I stop shaking enough to do so, I pull the bag off my back and reach down to empty a bag of dried fruit into it before abruptly stopping. If the Careers come back and see empty bags then they'll know someone has got to the supplies. It's just like the Banquet Hall, I think, as I reach down to take a handful of the fruit before replacing the bag in its original position. If I take only a small amount of everything then nobody will notice there is anything missing.

I fill up my pack as quickly as I can, then fasten it securely to my back before making my way out through the minefield. It's a lot harder to make myself stay slow and cautious on the way back as my heart leaps at my success and the weight of the food is heavy on my back. It feels like I haven't eaten for years I'm so hungry. I picture Cassie sitting on the edge of her seat in the laboratory dining hall and wonder what she is thinking. I bet she doesn't disapprove of my food stealing skills now they might just save my life.

I practically race back to my den, almost forgetting to look out for signs of the other tributes, but I'm lucky. There is no sign of anyone and, although I know it can't be so, it feels like I'm the only person left in the arena.

The sensible part of my brain tells me I should eat only the minimum amount of food possible in case I can't get any more, but for once in my life I ignore it and eat until I'm full. It's the first time I've not been hungry since I left the Capitol and I am shocked by how much better I feel. I pull the screen further over the hole in the tree and curl up in my spare blanket, which had been left forgotten at the bottom of my bag until I had had to sort out my new supplies. I sleep peacefully for the first time in as long as I can remember, dreaming that I am far, far away from here.

* * *

It takes me a while to remember where I am when I wake up, and it is the pain in my arm that eventually brings me crashing back to reality. I sit up and lift my screen very slightly so I can listen for other tributes without revealing where I'm hiding, but I hear nothing. Unless somebody died when I was unconscious, there have been no deaths since Glimmer and Varia two days ago. This is bad news. The audience will be getting bored, and the consequences of audience boredom are never good. Where are the remaining Careers? Surely Cato will be having withdrawal symptoms if he hasn't killed someone for at least two days.

A thought suddenly occurs to me and I close my eyes with the effort of trying to remember all that I know about the effects of tracker jacker venom. I have worked out, or in other words guessed, that I was knocked out for a day and a night, and that was from a single sting, a swelling which has only now started to go down, so the effects of more stings would probably last for longer. Although I'm considerably smaller than the average Career and therefore probably going to be affected by the toxin for longer, assuming the highly likely possibility that the Careers were stung a lot more than once, they are likely to be still out there, lying unconscious and totally defenceless.

How can I have been so stupid? Why didn't I think of this before? I have a knife. All I have to do is find and kill them and then I will have wiped out at least three of the deadliest contestants still left in the Games. The field of nine others will become five in the space of minutes. I say five because if he's still alive then I will have to kill District 3 too. Anyone who is capable of thinking of reactivating landmines has very little sympathy from me even if he was doing it as an attempt to save his life. He's as stupid as Peeta in a way, as he too thought he could bargain for his life with the Careers but couldn't see beyond the next few hours or days, when whatever he was being used for had been achieved and he would once more be as surplus to requirements as he had ever been.

The most logical place to look is by the lake where I last saw them, disappearing back into the trees to presumably go after the person who had the nerve to drop a tracker jacker nest on them, but when I reach a small clearing with an empty nest on the floor next to the remains of a campfire there is no sign of them. I put my knife back into the waistband of my trousers only to take it back out again immediately. Knowing my luck the Careers won't have been stung at all and they'll be lying in wait for me somewhere, and while I don't think for a second I could do anything useful with the knife, I feel better carrying it.

I return to the Cornucopia and walk slowly around it, making almost a full circle before I see them. I wonder how I could possibly have missed them earlier but I suppose they are on the opposite side to the supply pyramid and my mind was definitely on other things at the time. Of Peeta there is no sign, and on recalling the sound of swords clashing that I heard before the toxin set in, part of me hopes he has been punished for his betrayal. The boy from District 3 barely made it back out of the lake before passing out and is lying on the shore in much the same position as I was in after the fire, shaking terribly and clearly having nightmares as dreadful as mine. What has happened to him in his short life to give him such horrific memories? Maybe it's simply effect of being in the arena that is making him think such awful things, but that's a question I will never know the answer to.

District 1 made it a bit further towards their camp, but it's not him I approach. Cato and Clove lie together a couple of metres away from the Cornucopia, unconscious but looking as if they are merely sleeping. He has his arms wrapped protectively around her, showing the truth about their relationship in a way they both seem unwilling to do when conscious. I guessed the truth a long time ago, before we even reached the arena, as all of the observation and spying I've done has enabled me to notice the little things that others might not see. The way they look at each other when they think nobody else is looking, the way they almost subconsciously support each other in front of the other tributes, how he pushed her in front of him when they were fleeing the tracker jackers, how she put the knife into the wall of the Training Centre gymnasium to stop him from taking his intimidation of me too far in front of the Gamemakers. All of these things tell me that what I see now isn't just a by-product of being trapped in the arena but something that started long before the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. They might have been raised in a way that made them arrogant killing machines but that doesn't mean they've lost all ability to show emotions and feel love, for each other at least. A flashback of the District 2 reaping replays in my head and I remember Clove's visible shock at being chosen and how they couldn't even look at each other when the anthem played. I hadn't understood what I was seeing then but I do now. Never having loved another person in that way, I can't begin to imagine what it must feel like to know that only one of them can survive.

I raise my knife as I move closer to them, cautiously at first but then with more confidence once I realise they're not going to wake up. I'm about a metre away when Clove whispers something in her sleep that I can't make out and then stretches her arm out so it lies across Cato's chest, burying her face in the collar of his jacket. Suddenly they don't look like the psychopathic trained killers I've been raised to believe all Career Tributes are, and despite the fact they would both kill me in a heartbeat if they were awake, it seems cowardly to cut their throats while they sleep. I lower the knife and take a step back.

I've taken about ten paces backwards before I stop and consider what I'm doing. I will never have another opportunity like this, and what I choose to do in the next few moments could be the difference between making it out of this arena alive rather than nailed inside a wooden box. When did I become so weak anyway? Two cuts with the knife and it will all be over. 'No, it won't', I answer myself. If the Hunger Games have taught me anything, it's that, while it is very easy to think about or plan how to take the life of another person, actually doing so is a lot harder. Still, if I don't do this then sooner or later my luck will run out and I will end up dead. And if I have to choose between my life and theirs then I choose mine every time.

I am one-hundred percent positive that there is a camera focussed on me now. I can imagine every single person in Panem, eyes glued to the television screen, holding their breath and waiting to see what I will do next. All of the rich people in the Capitol, the potential sponsors, will be scrutinising me right now, and I instinctively know that if I don't carry out my plan of putting an end to the Careers then I can wave goodbye to any hope I had of sponsorship.

"Lysandra, you have to do this," I say, speaking aloud in an effort to give myself enough courage to go through with it.

Raising the knife once more, I approach the boy from District 1 this time. It somehow seems easier to consider ending his life, although I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because, while I have a certain level of respect for the pair from District 2, I don't have much of an opinion about him. I don't even know his name. I reach down with the knife, hoping I have the strength to give him a quick death that will be over before he realises what has happened, but stop abruptly and stand upright once more when I see a movement in the corner of my eye.

I look back in the direction of the Cornucopia in time to watch Cato half sit up and pull Clove even closer to him. I'm close enough to recognise that although he's still asleep at the moment, he won't be for much longer. Opportunity missed, I dive across the open ground and into the bush from which I watched the bloodbath just as he wakes up. Part of me feels like I'm being pathetic to turn and run so quickly, when I probably had time to finish what I'd started with District 1 at least, but realistically I don't think I would stand a chance against Cato even if he has been unconscious for days. He could probably fight and defeat me in his sleep.

As I peer through the leaves, Cato stands up then crouches back down by Clove's side, shaking her gently in an attempt to wake her. I'm not surprised when he's unsuccessful as she is less than half his size and from what I saw has at least as many tracker jacker stings. It will take a bit longer for the effect of the venom to wear off her than it did him. When he has eventually reached the same conclusion as me, he lifts her from the ground as if she weighs no more than a feather and carries her to the sleeping bags before returning to the lake to stare ominously down at the boy from District 3, who is also showing signs of coming round.

I struggle to stop myself from laughing at the stark contrast between Cato's gentle treatment of Clove and his usual blatant aggression, which shows clearly when he viciously kicks the boy from 3 until he has no choice but to wake. Everything I've seen of the boy from District 2, who has obviously seen too much and is too old to be called a boy really, indicates that this aggressive arrogance is the side of him that people normally see. If his mentor is anything to go by, such a violent manner is perfectly normal in the 'Career School' of District 2. So what is it about Clove that changes him so much? What happened to bring them together? From the very little I know of their upbringing in District 2, I decide it's probably better I don't know. I really dread to think.

"We need some food. You constructed the trap so you can walk through it."

"Right now? Can't I have a drink first?" the boy asks, looking up at Cato with pleading eyes. I can't say I blame him for trying. I wouldn't want to walk through a circle of landmines when I had only just regained consciousness after two days of lying half-submerged in a freezing lake either.

"I said now," replies Cato, not having to raise his voice to make District 3 understand the consequences of refusal. "Anyway, you assured me there would be no problems in getting to the supplies. Are you saying you lied to me?"

"Of course not," stutters District 3 hastily. "But I need time to think about it."

Cato reaches down and picks up a spear from the floor. "You don't have time," he says, pressing the point of the spear into the boy's back.

District 3 gets the message and slowly makes his way to the pyramid, taking a slightly different route to the one I used. I'll have to remember the way he went if I can. As the trap's creator, he will surely know the safest way through. He brings back a selection of food to Cato and then turns away, so desperate to escape that he is almost running.

It takes a couple more hours for the remaining Careers to wake, and it's District 1 who regains consciousness first. I can almost hear him thinking as he looks first at Cato and then at Clove, who still lies seemingly lifeless on the pile of sleeping bags. He seems genuinely surprised and more than a little bit suspicious that Cato hasn't cut his throat while he slept but he says nothing.

I can almost hear the sigh of relief from the Gamemakers when, about half an hour later, Clove finally sits up and immediately reaches for her knives. She looks frantically around, only stopping when her eyes find Cato.

The best sources of entertainment are back in the game and I can just imagine the bloodthirsty viewers back in the Capitol waiting for the killing to start again. As the Careers recover from the attack and begin to search the area around the Cornucopia once more, I bet there are many people watching who hope I'll be their first victim. I'm convinced they will see my failure to carry out my plan as a lack of courage, and although there is probably some level of truth in those thoughts, I am determined not to give the audience the satisfaction of seeing me die. Not today anyway. I slink away from the lake, away to get some rest so I'm ready to fight another day.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

I sleep until just before dawn, which is a lot longer than I wanted to. What is it with me and oversleeping? I had intended to wake a good couple of hours earlier so I had time to get into position by the lake, ready to see what the three remaining Careers decide to do when they get back from hunting but without having to run the risk of walking straight into them as they return. I suppose now I'll just have to take the chance.

I can't believe there are only three of them left, and, if my calculations are still right, it's even harder to believe that more than half of the other tributes have died and I am still alive. I don't know what makes me think of him, but I suddenly think of Lucius, the hated governor of Laboratory 7, who told me before I left for the Capitol that I wouldn't live past day one. It's unlikely that he will ever regret his words, but I hope he does. At least I have managed to prove him wrong and, in doing so, I hope I would have made my father proud.

I'm making my way through the trees, following one of my usual paths, when I hear the sound of footsteps. Had it been less than a week ago then I wouldn't have heard anything, but I've become accustomed to the sounds of the woods now, and my sense of hearing is at least a hundred times more sensitive than it was before I entered the arena. That is definitely the sound of somebody trying to move silently and not quite succeeding.

I look around frantically until I notice the faded and wilted purple bloom lying at the base of a tall tree. I've become familiar with my surroundings a lot quicker than I thought I would, but I'm still glad I used the flowers. Typically but rather unsurprisingly, I have only recently discovered that I sometimes have the awful habit of freezing when I really should be running, and it's usually the sight of one of my markers that snaps me out of it. I pull myself high up into the tree and look down through the branches, waiting to see who it is that I came so close to coming face to face with.

As I have seen nothing of four of the five remaining non-Careers since the day I accidentally met Lucas in the woods, I'm expecting to see one of the Careers, getting in some last minute hunting before dawn, but it is the boy from District 10 who appears. I should have known that he wouldn't have been able to travel any great distance and watching him now, I'm amazed he's lasted this long. Lucas' face is set with the same determination that had stood out to me so much when we met before, but his clothes are filthy and he looks like he hasn't eaten for days. His foot is causing him more trouble than it was before, and the makeshift strapping he has put on it doesn't seem to be helping very much as he hobbles along, clinging to the tree trunks for support.

I know the audience in the Capitol are probably waiting for me to put him out of his misery, but this time I don't even bother to reach for my knife. I have gained enough knowledge of myself by now to know that if someone kills Lucas then it won't be me. I settle back against the trunk of the tree and wait for him to go past, only to sit bolt upright a couple of seconds later at the sound of more footsteps, this time accompanied by voices. The voices of people so fearless that they don't even bother trying to conceal themselves.

By the time I've leant forwards, trying to find a way of warning Lucas of his impending doom without revealing my own location to anyone but him, he is surrounded by the two Careers. And now I am going to have to watch the death of another person while I sit and hide, I think, immediately seeing the similarities between this scene and the last time that I saw my father.

"What do we have here then?" comes the arrogant and mocking voice of District 1. "I'm surprised you're still alive, District 9. I'd give you the chance to run for your life but I don't think it's worth the bother."

"District 10," corrects Cato, as he pulls a knife from his jacket and moves menacingly towards Lucas. It's Clove's knife. I recognise the handle as matching the one that killed Alecto, so where is she? I would know if she was dead because I would have heard the cannon fire, and besides, I don't think Cato would be calmly holding a knife to the throat of the boy from District 10 if she was.

I can't say how much I don't want to watch this, but I'm unable to tear my eyes away. From my vantage point high in the tree, I can tell that Lucas is terrified, but he approaches what will surely be the moment of his death with the same quiet defiance that he has shown throughout the Games. As he does his very best to fight his fear and stare unwaveringly into Cato's eyes, it's obvious that he knows full well he has no chance of escaping with his life. He doesn't even struggle when the knife cuts into the pale skin of his chest.

Despite the fact that I'm sitting here willing with every fibre of my body for Cato to end this quickly, I knew, even before he dragged the knife lightly over Lucas's chest to leave only a superficial wound, that he would not. Maybe if he had not had District 1 with him then he would have been content to simply end the life of yet another tribute with a single blow or stab, but with the other Career there, showing even this small mercy would be seen as a weakness, and weakness has probably never even been an option for one such as Cato.

This continues for what is probably only a couple of minutes but it feels like hours, Cato cutting Lucas with the knife, waiting for him to break down and beg for his life, and Lucas staring expressionlessly back at him, determined to die with what little pride he has left. I taste blood in my mouth from where I have bitten my lip to stop myself from crying out. It seems to go on for eternity, the view I have never changing.

As I watch, Lucas visibly reaches the limit of his endurance, takes a deep breath and suddenly begins to struggle frantically, just succeeding in escaping from the clutches of District 1, who had previously been pinning his arms behind his back. Although any fool could see that he has nowhere to go and the boy from District 10 is no fool, I expect him to try to run anyway, but he doesn't. He lunges forward towards Cato, grabs his wrist and yanks the knife forwards so that it sinks deep into his own chest. I jump backwards, clinging to the tree as my mind attempts to process what I've just witnessed.

I can understand why he did it. Having seen that there was no way he could escape, he wanted to put an end to his torture, but doing what he did is virtually unheard of in the Hunger Games. Everyone across the whole of the country knows that to do such a thing is seen as acting against the Capitol, which uses the Games as a means of demonstrating the level of control that it can exert over every single citizen of the districts. The consequences of even speaking against Panem's all-powerful authority are dire. Providing entertainment for the mob aside, the point of the Games is to show that the Capitol has the power of life and death over us all. That they can decide how and when we die and there is nothing we can do about it. To take matters into your own hands like Lucas did is tantamount to open rebellion, and I hope he doesn't have a family waiting back in District 10 who can be punished for his crime.

I look back down to the two Careers and see that District 1 is openly shocked by what happened. Cato hides his emotions a lot better, so well that if I hadn't seen him with Clove earlier then I would wonder if he is actually capable of feeling human emotions at all. He leans down to pull the knife from Lucas' lifeless body just as the cannon sounds, before turning to walk back in the direction of the lake. He's halfway to the trees when he comes to an abrupt halt, the emotionless mask sliding from his face instantly.

"Which one did you get?" Clove asks as she steps silently into the clearing, her eyes fixed on Cato.

"District 9," replies District 1. "Or was it 10? They all look the same after a while."

"That's why you will never win the Games, District 1. Because they really do all look the same to you," says Cato. "It was District 10." He turns back to look at Clove. "I was going to give the audience a show but he threw himself on my blade before I'd even started. How did you find us anyway? Where's the boy?"

"You have many strengths Cato, but being discreet isn't one of them. I could track you in the dark." She smirks as she almost playfully insults him, and judging by District 1's look of shock at her comment, I strongly suspect that she's the only person who would even dream of talking to her district partner in that way. " The boy's with the supplies. We reached an understanding eventually." Clove gives another, more evil looking smirk and taps the handle of the knife that is sticking out of her jacket pocket knowingly. Even though I don't have a particularly high opinion of District 3, I feel a sudden rush of pity for the poor boy when I think about what he probably had to go through before this understanding was reached.

"Which way now?" asks District 1, and the two tributes from District 2 turn their heads suddenly to face him, as if they'd forgotten he was there until he spoke. They probably had.

"That's it for now. I'm going back to the camp to rest," answers Clove.

"Because you've had such a strenuous morning so far," is District 1's sarcastic response.

He's either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid to talk to her like that, and if I had to choose which then I would bet on the latter with complete confidence. Maybe the audience will be treated to another death this morning. As much as I hate the needless killing, in a way I hope they are, as the only way I stand much of a chance is if the Careers start killing each other.

Clove steps threateningly towards him but Cato, with the knife that killed Lucas still in his hand, gets there first. He's holding the weapon to District 1's throat before the young man even realises what a dangerous position his flippant comment has put him in. He tries to back away but quickly finds that Clove has circled around to stand behind him. All three of them remain in this position for a couple of seconds, then Cato and Clove look at each other, appearing not to need words to communicate as they simultaneously begin to laugh. District 1's usual arrogance has vanished and he looks like he has never been less amused. The expression on his face is that of someone who, for the first time, truly fears for his life.

Cato obviously thinks his actions are sufficient to make the other Career understand that he is pushing his luck, but Clove, rather understandably I think, has less faith in his intelligence.

"Are you capable of counting, District 1? If you are then you'll be able to work out that we are two and you are just one. To borrow the Capitol's words, that means the odds are most definitely not in your favour. If you want to carry on hunting then be my guest, but don't expect us to run and save you if you meet Thresh somewhere along the way or end up falling into one of District 5's traps."

So, my act that I maintained throughout the build-up to the Games really did work. She's convinced I have the ability to trap and kill one of her fellow Careers. Even if she is referring to one as stupid as the boy from 1, I am strangely flattered that she gives me that much credit.

By the time I've finished discounting all the possible ways of trapping and killing District 1 that I can think of, largely due to arriving at the conclusion that Marcus and Viola will not send me either a gun to shoot him with or the ability to dig a twenty foot deep hole in the ground for me to trick him into falling in, even if I ask really nicely, the Careers have once more vanished into the trees. A couple of minutes later the hovercraft swoops down and takes Lucas away. I turn to face the opposite direction, unable to watch.

* * *

It's mid-afternoon by the time I get back to the lake and take up my position. I'm finding it so very hard to keep my mind from focussing solely on how thirsty I am that I'm being to get worried. The extreme variations in temperature, which are so dramatic and rapid that they cannot possibly be occurring naturally, are making everything worse as it's almost suffocatingly hot during the day, making my body all the more desperate for water that I simply don't have.

I was hoping they would have already gone hunting or be asleep by the time I reached the camp, but I'm disappointed when I look in the direction of the supply pyramid to see all three Careers walking away from it, carrying as much food as they possibly can, with District 3 trailing along behind. They have obviously given up on any kind of rationing, which I suppose is to be expected really. They could feed the population of an entire district for a week with what they have, and from what I've seen, it's only a matter of a very short time before three Career survivors become two anyway.

We've been in the arena for over a week now, and that usually means the Career Alliance is well past it's sell-by-date. It won't be long before Cato and Clove come to the conclusion that leaving District 1 alive is not benefiting them, and looking at how on edge the boy appears, I think he realises it too. They sit down on the pile of sleeping bags to eat, the pair from District 2 together, with District 1 further away. District 3 seems to have worked out exactly how far he can be from his captors without being accused of doing something he shouldn't, and he maintains this distance at all times, sitting cross-legged on the floor holding a plastic box.

Cato suddenly jumps to his feet and points at something in the distance somewhere to my right. I turn as much as I can, but it's difficult to see when I'm trying not to fall out of a bush right into the middle of the Careers' camp at the same time, so it takes a couple of minutes for me to see what he's looking at.

A plume of thick smoke is rising high above the trees, clearly signalling the whereabouts of the person who lit it to every other tribute in the arena. How could anyone be so stupid? And more to the point, how could anyone who _is _that stupid have survived for this long? Here am I, secretly congratulating myself for managing to get this far, when there is someone alive out there who doesn't have the sense to know that lighting a fire like that is complete suicide. They've obviously been very lucky to escape the Careers for so long, so part of me starts to think that maybe I have simply been lucky too. Maybe it's me who is the stupid one for sitting in a bush a couple of metres from their camp. 'But you need the food and water,' says the nagging voice in my head, 'You had no choice. You _have_ no choice'. And perhaps that person isn't as brainless as I think. Perhaps they know that the fire will attract the Careers and they lit it on purpose. The only tribute who would even stand a chance against Cato and/or Clove, in a fair fight at least, would be Thresh, but I haven't seen him since he fled the bloodbath on the first day. Could it be that he has had enough of waiting and has decided to take the fight to the Careers? I'll know soon enough if the cannons start firing.

In the time it's taken me to work out what had attracted Cato's attention, the Careers have armed themselves and are ready to go hunting what will probably be disappointingly easy prey. District 1 roughly directs the boy from 3 back towards the supply pyramid, but before he has walked even two steps an argument starts. Cato clearly disagrees with District1 and wants the boy to go with them, thinking that the mines will be enough to prevent another tribute from stealing supplies. By now I've long forgotten the score of the match in my head between me and the Careers, but if I hadn't then that would definitely be a point to me. I can get through the trap and Cato knows nothing about it. Part of me wishes I could see his reaction if he found out, but the other, more sensible part knows what would happen if he did. Another cannon would fire for sure and this time it would be mine, but it would almost be worth it to see the look on his face.

"What about Lover Boy?" asks District 1. When I hear that I suddenly remember Peeta. Until now I'd almost forgotten about him, assuming he was dead and that his picture had appeared in the sky on one of the alarmingly frequent occasions that I've missed the death recap due to being unconscious at the time. Honestly, I think I've spent most of my time in the arena either unconscious or asleep. It's surprising I know what's going on at all.

"I keep telling you, forget about him. I know where I cut him. It's a miracle he hasn't bled to death yet. At any rate, he's in no shape to raid us," replies Cato.

Well, that explains the sounds of swords clashing that were coming from the trees after the great tracker jacker incident. I'd almost convinced myself that the effects of the toxin had made me imagine it, but it obviously really did happen. I wonder now as I did then what it was that made Peeta desperate enough to attempt to fight Cato. He clearly came off worse than his opponent, which is only to be expected, but I wonder if he achieved what he had wanted to achieve. Either way, from what Cato said, he is paying for his foolishness now.

As my attention goes back to the other tributes I immediately see that Cato and Clove have had enough of arguing with District 1. Cato pushes a spear into the hands of District 3 and heads towards the woods with Clove at his side and the other two following behind. District 3 is dwarfed by his companions, staring down at the spear as he walks like it's going to jump up and stab him of its own accord. I have a feeling that however hard I am finding life in the arena, he is worse off than me.

Relieved that the Careers have finally gone, and that they have been considerate enough not to leave a guard on the supplies, I make my way to the lake and fill up my water containers before returning to hide in the undergrowth, sipping my water and waiting for the cannons to fire.

Several minutes pass by and I hear nothing. It is at times like this that I wish the Gamemakers did give us updates about what's happening in other parts of the arena. The not knowing is driving me mad, and what's more I have no idea where the Careers are. This is not their usual hunting time so I can't even guess how long they will be away. I know I'd better go to the supply pyramid now if I'm going to, but I feel a sudden reluctance at the thought of braving the mines again. 'It's better than starving to death, Lysa,' I remind myself as I get to my feet and walk the short distance to the edge of the tree line.

After peering out to check for signs of both the Careers and any other tributes, I step out into the open, running as quickly as I dare towards the pyramid and stopping abruptly when I approach the first small pile of supplies, guessing from what I saw District 3 do that it marks the start of the minefield. I had thought to follow the path taken by the trap's creator, but now that I'm here I'm so nervous that the only way through I can remember is my own.

I pause for a second when I get to a barrel just before the main pile of supplies, taking a deep breath and breathing a sigh of relief that I've made it so far for a second time. I can feel my heart racing and I'm physically shaking with fear, but I force my emotions back, sure that the eyes of all Panem are focussed on me once again. Most of them matter very little to me by now, but as I imagine Cassie and Marcus watching, I find the courage to jump as lightly as I can over the barrel.

I stop breathing when I find myself propelled forwards, misjudging my landing so much that my hands touch the floor as I fight with all of my strength to remain on my feet, the consequences of not doing so running through my mind the whole time. I hear a sharp scream of fear and it is not until I have regained my balance that I work out it was me who made the noise. That was close. Almost too close.

I hold my breath as I continue to the supplies, once again taking a little of everything that I can safely reach and not leaving any bags empty. When I can't fit another thing into my pack, I return it to my shoulder and retrace my steps out of the minefield, sprinting as quickly as I can back to the safety of the woods once I've cleared it.

* * *

Once I reach my favourite den, travelling the long way around to make sure nobody is following, I begin to unload and then repack all but a small amount of my new supplies. I carry most of the few possessions that I have with me at all times, but I like to have a few things stored away inside the tree in case something happens to the bag. Like my father used to tell me, it's always best to be prepared for anything.

Just as I think about trying to be prepared for anything, I notice the birds have stopped singing. I'm standing surrounded by complete silence when I hear the crack of a twig snapping from somewhere in front of me. What now? Can I not go a single day without accidentally walking into or being discovered by another tribute? It's almost as if the Gamemakers have developed a way of controlling people's minds and actions and are sending them in my direction on purpose so that I never get any rest. Thinking about it, they probably are.

I dive into the hollow trunk of the tree and pull the screen over the top, leaving the tiniest gap possible so that I can peer out and discover the cause of the snapped branch. A huge figure steps into the clearing and my first thought is that it's Cato, but as the person comes closer I realise with shock that it's Thresh.

I obviously knew that he was still alive and out there somewhere, but I haven't seen him since day one, when he ran in the opposite direction to me and disappeared into the void on the other side of the Cornucopia. As I watch him sit down on the grass under a tree and take some food from a pack he is carrying, I can see that living in the arena for over a week has done him very little harm. If anything he seems to have increased in size and looks more formidable than ever. I wonder what he's been living on? I know he hasn't been relying on the Cornucopia supplies in the same way as I have. Maybe there's food in the place where he's been hiding out. There must be, and coming from the agricultural district, I'm sure he knows exactly what is safe to eat and what isn't.

* * *

I'm sitting in exactly the same position about half an hour later, propping the screen up with my good but rapidly cramping arm while cradling my injured and now painfully throbbing arm to my chest, not daring to move in case he looks up and sees me. Suddenly I hear the loudest explosion I've ever heard in my life, which is really saying something as, coming from District 5 and working in the laboratories, I've heard more than my fair share of dramatic explosions.

The only thing it could be is the supplies. Somebody must have triggered a mine, which then set off the rest of them, I think, my heart sinking as I realise my only source of food has literally gone up in smoke. Whichever tribute did it must surely be dead, the sound of the cannon masked by the explosion, but who was it? I can say for certain that it wasn't Thresh, and, taking over Icarus' job of stating the blindingly obvious, I also know that it wasn't me, but other than that it could have been any one of the remaining seven.

Peeta isn't in a fit state to be walking around attempting to steal food, if I assume I can believe what Cato says, and, as I haven't seen her for the entire duration of the Games, I have also been assuming that Rue has other sources of food and wouldn't be interested in the supplies. It's also unlikely to have been any of the Careers as they have been sending District 3 to fetch their food, so that just leaves District 3 himself, who was the one who set up the trap and is therefore the least likely person to set it off, or Katniss, the mysterious girl-on-fire who scored eleven.

I flinch when I hear the cannon fire, and see Thresh do the same. So who could that have been for? Not the person who detonated the landmines, as the Gamemakers know the exact moment of every tribute's death, I suspect via the trackers that were injected into each of us before the hovercraft journey to the arena, and the cannons don't fire a second before or a second after that moment. Whoever that cannon was for died long after the supplies had blown.

Thresh looks around, his face as anxious as I've ever seen it, which is admittedly not very. The tall, powerful tribute from District 11 doesn't seem to feel fear or anxiety, or if he does, he hides it well. Although I barely know him, all that I do know tells me he's a good person, a person who's only wish is that his name had never been drawn from the reaping ball and that he was never put in this position, where he is forced to take the lives of others to save his own. Part of me wants to take the risk and reveal my presence, putting myself at his mercy just to end this waiting, but a sudden flashback of our conversation on the roof of the Training Centre keeps me hidden. He might not want to kill, but I remember his tone of voice and have no doubts that he would if that was the only way to get home.

I eventually give up on holding the screen and let it fall back into place, once more plunging myself into total darkness. While I genuinely think that I would like Thresh if we were not in the arena, by the time night begins to fall without him showing any signs of moving, I'm beginning to consider if it would be possible for someone of my diminutive stature to confront him and win, for the simple reason that not knowing what's happening by the lake is driving me mad.

The whole of my survival strategy has been based around monitoring the other tributes, and I'm not so unintelligent that I fail to see how I have been using my spying as a distraction from my own increasingly dark and morbid thoughts. Now I have no choice but to sit here in the dark, it's becoming far too easy to let my mind wander in all sorts of terrible directions. I think about what will happen if I don't make it out of here, how I might die and what I will feel when I do, and, perhaps even harder for me to contemplate, about what will happen if a miracle occurs and I actually win. Could I really mentor tributes like Marcus is forced to? I would have no choice if I won. I would be granted a life of luxury in a gilded cage, required to do the Capitol's bidding whenever they wished, and the more I think about it, the more I realise that I would go insane if I had to live like that. Even if I win, the Games will never end.

"Stop it, Lysa. Stop thinking," I hiss to myself under my breath, silently pleading for Thresh to disappear into the void once more. What is he doing here anyway? His strategy has always seemed to be avoidance rather than confrontation, as if he knows that simply his physical size and presence will make him a target for the Careers. From observing him in the build-up to the Games, I find it very hard to believe that he's scared of them, so my only other possible answer to the riddle of the man from District 11 is that his reluctance to kill extends even to the Careers, and that he avoids putting himself in a position where he will have to fight for that reason.

But whatever the reason, it doesn't change the fact that I can't move until he does, so I occupy my mind by trying to think of different explanations for what, or more importantly who, caused the explosion. If it _was _another tribute then, simply by a process of elimination, I would have to guess at Katniss, although I can't see her being stupid enough to walk straight onto a minefield. Maybe her hunger just got the better of her and clouded her judgement. It wouldn't be the first time that has happened to a tribute in the Games.

Of course I have to consider another possibility, which is that it wasn't a tribute that detonated the mines at all. Maybe the Gamemakers did it because they don't like the way District 3 outsmarted them. It's possible. After all, when the audience demands to see direct tribute against tribute battles, the prospect of half of the competitors being obliterated in less than a second by a mine explosion won't be appealing to them. Which could explain why a cannon fired well after the blast. What if more than one tribute was caught in the explosion? If the Gamemakers did blow up the supplies then they wouldn't have done it without ensuring a dramatic death or two for the benefit of the bloodthirsty Capitol audience. However horrible, that would obviously be good for me, but I'll have to wait for the death recap to know for sure. And I will only see that if Thresh moves out of the way.

Some time later, the overwhelming silence is suddenly broken by the grating chords of the anthem, so I take a deep breath to calm myself and slowly raise the screen once more. I don't want to but I need to take the risk as I have to know the identity of the person who caused the explosion. As I peer across the clearing using the dim light provided by the Capitol's seal to see by, it's immediately apparent that Thresh has disappeared without a trace. It's almost as if I imagined his presence.

The first tribute to appear in the sky is the boy from District 3. So all of the Careers survived then. I suppose I was being unusually optimistic to imagine otherwise. Maybe it was something as simple as him misjudging where to put his feet when he was fetching food for his captors, but somehow I don't think so. I cannot shake the feeling that there was more to it than that, however I will learn no more tonight.

The only other face to appear is the one I was already expecting, and I fight back a wave of grief as Lucas stares down at me. I know he had no idea I was there watching when he was caught by Cato and District 1, but his eyes seem to be fixed intently on me, accusing me of doing as little to try and prevent his death as I did my father's. I look away, berating myself for being so stupid. 'You could not have prevented what happened to either of them. The only thing you would have achieved if you had tried would have been your own execution as well as theirs,' I say, attempting to convince myself that there was nothing I could have done.

I suddenly realise that my thoughts are catching up with me again and feel a desperate urge to do something, anything, to distract myself once more. But I also know there is nothing I can do now. I'm surrounded by pitch black darkness and Cato and Clove still have their night-vision glasses. All I can do is wait until morning.

* * *

When I push back the screen my drowsiness makes me forget all caution, and I am immediately hit with the blinding rays of sunlight that are streaming through the gaps between the branches. For the sun to be that bright it must be at least half way through the morning. As usual, after taking many hours to finally fall asleep, I have now slept for too long. I must get to the lake immediately as I can't afford to go another day without replenishing my almost non-existent water supply.

Now my mind is made up, I start walking the short distance straight away, heading to the lake first despite my desperation to see what, if anything, is left of the supplies. Once I've established that there are no other tributes around, I refill my bottles then sit at the edge of the water, taking a deep breath as I prepare to take the makeshift bandage off my arm. The pain has steadily increased every day since the fire, and as much as I have tried to block it out and ignore the fact that the burn is probably infected, I know it's time to face reality. I have to at least try to clean the wound and, although I've virtually given up hope by now, it won't hurt to make sure that the cameras get a good view of it, on the off-chance that a rich someone somewhere in the Capitol may admire the way I have survived this long against all odds and decide to send me some medicine. Like that will happen with the two pairs of star-crossed lovers still out there, I think, laughing to myself.

My resolve to investigate the wound lasts as long as it takes me to get the bandage off. It's red and angry looking, and as soon as I splash water onto it, it begins to leak a vile looking fluid that appears to be a mixture of blood and pus. The conclusion I quickly reach is that ignorance is bliss. There are only eight of us left now so the Games will be over soon, one way or another. The chances of me living long enough to die of blood poisoning are very small, and if I do survive beyond all of the other tributes then I will be shipped off back to the Capitol, where I'm sure they would be able to cure me in a matter of minutes. So horrified am I by the sight of my arm without it, that it takes half the time to put the bandage back on as it did to remove it.

To distract myself from the throbbing pain, I cross over to the Cornucopia and survey the scene of total devastation that surrounds me. When he set up the mines, District 3 obviously did his job too well, because it's immediately apparent that there is nothing left. All of the food gone in the space of a few seconds. I had expected at least a small amount to have survived unscathed but there really is nothing. What am I going to do now? There are very few options left. The only thing I can do is salvage what I can and try to think of an alternative way of getting food. The only thing about my brief edible plants lessons back in the Training Centre that I have confidence in my memory of is berries. I'd been relatively clear about the different leaves and roots too when they were all laid neatly out in front of me, but now that I could really do with knowing which is which, I find that the only ones I can remember with any real certainty are the ones I used in experiments back in District 5. And that's no use as, without exception, they would kill me before I had swallowed my first mouthful. I wonder what happens to a person who lives on nothing but berries for days? I guess I'll soon find out.

As I walk over to stand in the middle of what little is left of the pyramid, it suddenly occurs to me that I'm not the only person who was relying on the supplies. I begin to laugh almost hysterically as I realise quite how spectacularly the trap the Careers had forced District 3 to create has backfired on them. If I don't have any food then they don't either. One of their biggest advantages has been lost and they brought it all on themselves. Maybe there is some justice after all.

I walk around in the wreckage for at least a couple of minutes, finding only a knife and what looks like a metal cooking pot, before I return to my senses and stop myself from laughing out loud. I don't know if my reaction to what I'm seeing means I'm finally losing my mind, but breaking down with mad, hysterical laughter cannot be a good sign. 'Get a grip, Lysa', I hiss furiously to myself. Cato and Clove are still out there and they are unlikely to have gone far. I might be losing the will to live almost as rapidly as I appear to be losing my mind, but one of the few things I can still say for certain is that I have no desire to be a victim of their particular brand of torture.

After days and days of being almost totally silent, I've lost the ability to judge exactly how loud I was, but the way the trees surround the open ground causes even the quietest of noises to echo and I wouldn't be surprised if the sound had travelled far enough to reach the other tributes. When I hear rattling coming from the void on the other side of the Cornucopia, I sprint back to the woods. It is probably Thresh, as he seems to have made that part of the arena his own, but it could also be the Careers, returning from a long overdue exploratory mission. Either way I can't stay, and anyway, it's time to start berry hunting.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

It's late afternoon on what I think is the tenth day of the Games when I finally run out of water. I've lasted the two days and a night which have passed since the morning of Lucas' death on what I had in my two water bottles, drinking only the bare minimum needed to stay alive, my fear suddenly creeping up and overwhelming me once the cannons had begun to fire. After days of hearing nothing relating to a death that I had not either witnessed with my own eyes or understood the cause of, the two cannons that sounded yesterday in quick succession were a huge and frightening shock.

I'd had to wait until nightfall to see the death recap, and the photographs that were projected into the sky were those of District 1 and little Rue from District 11. While I felt nothing but a strange relief when I saw District 1, I did and still do grieve for Rue. As I remember Thresh telling me on the roof of the Training Centre, she is…no, was…just a child, a child who didn't deserve to die at all, never mind in such circumstances. How did she die? I guess I'll never know, but I hope she didn't have to suffer like Cato wanted to make Lucas suffer. She wouldn't have been physically able to struggle free to throw herself on her attacker's blade even if she'd wanted to.

Was it Cato who killed her? Possibly. I can say that it definitely wasn't Thresh, as he had only recently once more returned to my clearing and I'd watched him disappear back into the void only moments before the first cannon fired. Anyway, I got the impression in the Training Centre that he would rather kill himself than kill her, and nothing I've seen in the arena so far has led me to believe I misjudged him. Assuming that Peeta is in no fit state to be killing even a tribute as small and fragile as Rue was, that just leaves Katniss and the two from District 2. Unless District 1 killed Rue before his own death. The most logical explanation is that Cato and Clove killed both tributes, that they had finally had enough of waiting and have now decided to end the Games one way or another as quickly as possible. It's the fear that my best guess is the right one that has kept me hidden for all this time, but I know I can't hide forever.

Although I've never been over- or even adequately fed in my life, the total lack of food has left me feeling weaker than I have ever felt. That's how I know I have snap out of my fear and do something quickly, preferably before I die half hidden inside a tree trunk in front of the entire nation, which, let's face it, would do very little for my pride.

Now there are so few survivors, the betting must be really hotting up in the Capitol, and once again I wish that somebody would sponsor me. It's ironic that the reason Marcus and Viola can't afford to send me anything is probably because I've survived so long into the Games that the price of everything has gone up so much that even the most basic necessities cost more than their budget can stretch to. If I'd run out of water on day one then they might have been able to afford to send me some.

I've long since given up on receiving any form of treatment for my arm, which by now would probably cost more than the cumulative total of District 5's sponsorship money since the Games began, but you would think someone would take pity on me and send me a bottle of water. They don't, however I abruptly stop myself mid-thought when I think that. Pity. What an awful word. I don't want pity from the likes of the Capitol people. I would rather die than receive anything that they send to me out of pity. And that means I have to move now. I've sat here for too long already and know that whatever the consequences might be, I have to do something.

I get up and begin to walk, not really knowing where I'm going or what I plan to do, stopping only to pluck some berries from a nearby bush, the sweet juice going someway towards quenching my thirst. The only thing that has been making me feel slightly better about my situation is the knowledge that Cato and Clove are also out there somewhere having to survive without their main food supply, which will surely decrease their advantage over the rest of us. Or will it?

The more I think about it the more I begin to have doubts. I don't remember seeing either of them at the survival stations during training, but that doesn't necessarily mean they can't hunt or gather food for themselves. I've seen for myself how intelligent Clove is, and as she was able to track me in the woods on the first day, she has definitely had some kind of survival training. Whilst the approach that District 2 takes to the Hunger Games has many faults and, from what I've seen and heard at least, they do seem to treat their tributes like animals rather than people, the fact the mentors want the tributes to win could never be questioned, and I can't imagine them being sent into the arena without the skills needed to prevent death from starvation.

Anyway, even if they can't gather enough food to feed themselves, the pair from District 2 will not be short of sponsors. Individually they are the strongest, most fearsome tributes who have entered the Games for many years, and together they are almost unstoppable. Many of the people watching will sponsor them for that reason alone, and I can just imagine the response they got after their little display of affection following the tracker jacker attack. The citizens of the Capitol must be beside themselves, for they have not one pair of star-crossed lovers but two. I bet whichever poor unfortunate whose job it is to produce the television soap operas is struggling to make ends meet right now following a dramatic decline in viewers, because watching the Games this year must surely be better than any work of fiction that he or she could write.

The thought of the pair from District 2 and their excess of sponsors gives me the idea of going back to their camp and repeating my usual strategy. It won't be as easy to take food without them noticing that it's missing, but it's the only thing I can think of at the moment and that means it's my best option.

By the time I reach the lake and the Cornucopia it's early evening and the sun is just starting to set. All I can do now is watch and wait for the right opportunity, for the chance to get to the water without being seen. It's strange to look out at the Careers' camp and see only two people left, lying down facing in opposite directions but with their heads close together, a short distance from a small cooking fire. So they do have food then. At first I think Cato and Clove are asleep but, when I stop moving and listen really closely, I can hear them talking.

"So now what?" asks Clove, the tone of her voice completely different from her usual coldness now she's talking only to Cato.

"You finally get to use that famous imagination of yours. We're going to kill the others in ways the Capitol will be talking about for the next hundred years. Starting with District 12," he adds, with an evil smile.

Poor Katniss. I can tell from the expression on his face when he thinks of her that he desperately wants her name added to his already long kill list back in the Capitol, and I wish I knew what she had done to incite such a vast hatred. Maybe it was something as simple as getting a higher training score than him and then having the nerve to survive for this long, despite what I'm guessing have been numerous attempts to track her down. When I hear Cato's next question, I listen hard, realising I might be about to get an answer.

"Do you really think she killed him?"

I assume he means District 1.

"We've had this discussion before. It makes sense. She was friendly with the District 11 girl in training. And she took the bow and arrows from Glimmer's body. She wouldn't have gone back for them if she didn't know what to do with them, it wouldn't have been worth the risk. We know District 1 caught the little girl, so she must have killed him for revenge. It wouldn't surprise me if it was her who took out the supplies as well. If she can shoot a bow then she could have set off the mines from far enough away to still get out alive."

"Then she'll suffer for what she did to us. She'll beg for me to kill her before the end."

"She will suffer, of that I have no doubt," Clove replies, cold and dangerous suddenly making a reappearance. Despite not being able to see her face clearly in the dim light of the fire, I would swear she's smiling at the thought.

"And what about District 5? We haven't seen her for days. She could be anywhere."

I can't help smiling slightly at Cato's comment. I'm obviously better at espionage than I thought. I've fooled District 2 anyway, which, judging by the number of deaths they have been either directly or indirectly responsible for, is no easy thing. Perhaps I should petition the Capitol, asking them to spare my life if I promise to work as a spy for the government. If only it was that simple.

I wait, not even daring to breathe in case I miss hearing about the undoubtedly evil plan that Clove has come up with to cause my demise, but she doesn't answer Cato's question, she simply stares silently up at the sky. Cato is obviously as perplexed by her lack of response as I am, and he sits up, turning around to lean over her, one hand on either side of her head. Clove moves slightly to look up at him, but she still doesn't speak.

"Don't look at me like that," he says almost sadly after a few seconds.

"Like what?"

"Like you're trying to memorise me."

Then I suddenly want to look away or to be somewhere else. I'd come here with the sole purpose of stealing food, and had actually expected discussion of violence and torture rather than this. I feel a vague sense of embarrassment. It had not been my intention to eavesdrop on such a private conversation.

When Clove says nothing further, Cato tries again to break the silence. "What are you thinking about?"

"That we're going to get a reputation for being the most pathetic tributes in the history of District 2 by talking like this when we're being filmed and broadcasted to the entire nation!" she shouts. I'm almost certain she's trying to distract him from pursuing the genuine answer to his question, a thought that is confirmed when she clearly realises he won't be distracted and so continues, speaking in a much softer voice. "You know what I'm thinking about. You said it yourself, there are only four left. What do we do when they're gone?"

He whispers something to her that I can't hear, and I'm guessing that whatever it is he said is something that he wants to keep hidden not only from what I am sure is an avidly captivated audience, but also, more importantly, from the Gamemakers, who could end both of their lives with the click of a button if they hear something they don't like. It doesn't have the desired effect though. She sits up, her face a mixture of sadness and anger as she gazes into his eyes.

"It's gone too far already and you know it! What do you expect me to do? Wait until we're the last two standing then kiss you goodbye as I try to put a knife in your throat?"

"Don't be ridiculous…we've fought each other before. Nobody put on a show like we did."

"It was never for real then. Fighting in the ring back home for our mentors' amusement is one thing, but this is _real_. They'll expect us to fight to the death!"

She stands up to walk away but he stands too, reaching out to grab her wrists before his hands move to her shoulders, forcing her to face him. "I told you, give them a good enough show with the others and they might let us both live."

"Get a grip on reality. The rules of the Games haven't changed in over seventy years. They'll kill us both before they let us live. We can't be together anymore, Cato. And we have to stop talking like this before the Gamemakers do something drastic and we both end up dead," she replies, but then her voice falls to a whisper I have to strain to hear. "The dream ended the second that my name was pulled from the reaping ball."

I'm close enough to see the unshed tears in her eyes as she pulls herself sharply from his grip and walks away towards the lake. Clove is right, they were treading on pretty dangerous ground then. Talking about the rules of the Games like Cato did then could land him in serious trouble with the Gamemakers, but despite training for the arena all his life, he didn't even seem to notice, never mind care. It's ironic that even with their strength, skill and years of weapons training, the Careers from District 2 are in exactly the same position as me. Trapped with no idea what to do next.

* * *

Darkness has fallen and I'm still sitting here waiting, unable to leave without water and unable to get it because of the Careers. Cato hasn't moved a muscle since Clove left, and I can see the tension in his face by the light of the fire. If somebody had told me a few weeks ago that I would end up not only in the Hunger Games arena but also feeling sorry for a pair of Careers then I would have laughed, but I do feel sorry for them, I can't help it. Even if they are right now plotting how to catch and kill me, I feel more sympathy for Clove and Cato than I do for Katniss and Peeta, as seeing the differences between the way the two couples are with each other convinces me more and more that only one partnership is completely genuine, and I don't mean the pair from District 12.

I can't believe there are only six of us left. I wonder what Cassie is thinking as she watches me continue to fight for my life, still alive despite the odds being stacked against me. The Capitol like to torment the surviving tributes' friends and relatives as the end of the Games get closer, probably with the sole purpose of trying to keep the audience amused when the action in the arena dwindles, and they've probably got Caesar Flickerman to interview her on the television by now. I know exactly what her reaction will have been to that. Sheer unadulterated terror, not at the thought of being live on screen in front of Panem's entire population, but at the thought of having to discuss her feelings and her past with anyone at all. My cousin is a very private person, and I can see the horrified expression on her face as she strives to answer Caesar's probing questions as if the Gamemakers are projecting it onto the sky. A vision of her hasn't appeared so clearly to me for many days, and as I feel my eyes filling up with tears, I mentally curse Cato, wishing with all my heart that he would just go and find Clove like he obviously so desperately wants to so that I can get some water.

I'm dropping off to sleep when I'm suddenly jolted back to alertness by the start of the anthem. I've heard no cannons so there were evidently no deaths today, but they still go through the same procedure of projecting the image of the seal into the sky, still following the rules of the Games to the letter in the typical Capitol manner. I look away from the sky and try to block the noise out, having heard the anthem so many times that I could repeat it note for note in my sleep. Besides, I never liked it anyway.

It's less than a second after the anthem finishes that the sound of trumpets blasts out around the arena. My eyes snap back to the sky but there is nothing different for me to see. It's gradually going dark, the Capitol seal slowly fading as Claudius Templesmith's voice rings out, loud and clear. I'm glad when he repeats himself because what he is saying is so impossible for me to comprehend that it takes my brain several minutes to process his words.

Clove had been correct when she had reminded Cato that the rules hadn't been altered in any way since the Games began over seventy years ago, apart from the ban on cannibalism anyway, and even that was an unwritten law rather than a written one. Which is why it's so difficult to take in what Claudius has just announced. If I heard him right then it is now possible for two tributes to win, the only condition being that they are from the same district. Then it finally sinks in and the reasoning behind it hits me like a punch in the stomach.

Why didn't I see it before? How could I have been so blind? Cato and Clove. Katniss and Peeta. The Gamemakers have probably been waiting for this opportunity for years. For as long as the Games have been held, the audience have been watching the tributes fighting to the death, fighting for their lives with every last bit of strength that they possess, but never before has that fight been between two couples. Maybe they have evidence that people in the Capitol are getting bored, because what better way is there than this to seize the attention of an audience which has seen virtually everything before?

The whole purpose of the rule change must be to set up a showdown between the two pairs of tributes, District 2 against District 12, the cold and clinical killing machines against the Girl-on-Fire and her seemingly devoted lover. So where do I fit into this vision? The only answer I can see to that question is that I don't. Neither Thresh nor I have district partners to team up with, and I feel a lump develop in my throat and the butterflies return to my stomach when I truly begin to understand what this is likely to mean.

The main function of the Gamemakers is to control every aspect of the Games, manipulating everything and everybody involved to produce the most exciting spectacle possible for the audience in the Capitol. I've seen it for myself in previous years, they get an idea into their heads of what will work and they do absolutely anything necessary to achieve their goal. It's the tributes who don't have a role to play who are the warm-up act to the main event, very often providing the delay needed to build up the right level of tension and anticipation by dying a long and brutal death, all orchestrated by the Gamemakers of course.

I don't think I'm a brave person. Sly and cunning, maybe, cleverer than average, certainly, but brave, definitely not. I've known this since I sat in a cupboard in total silence, watching as my beloved father was escorted away to certain death, just as I know now that I wouldn't have the courage to die a good death in the arena. I've seen what the Gamemakers have done in the past, what unspeakable acts of torture they have subjected tributes to before they finally grant them the mercy of death, and I know that I couldn't bear it. And now I don't know what to do. If I sit here doing nothing then they will get me all the sooner, and I refuse to disgrace myself and my father's memory and to bring shame on Cassie by waiting for death to come to me. I haven't got the strength or the willpower left to attack the others, but I don't have to give up on survival just yet.

I sit up again so I can peer through the gap in the thick foliage, pulling my injured arm inside my jacket to stop it from moving or knocking into anything as much as I can. Despite the bandage, it even hurts when the leaves brush against it now, telling me that I won't be able to remain in my state of voluntary ignorance for much longer. For now though, I block the pain out, looking up across the plain in time to see Cato rise to his feet, his smile genuinely reaching his eyes for the first time in my memory as he sprints away in the direction that Clove had disappeared, Claudius Templesmith's announcement sinking as slowly into his brain as it did into mine but producing a very different meaning when it does. I see only death but Cato sees life. Now they can both live.

"Well, Lysa," I whisper under my breath, "if you're going to survive then you have to move. Now."

I push myself out of my hiding place and cross the short distance to the fire. I was right, Cato and Clove do have sponsors, a lot of sponsors if the amount of food they have is anything to go by, but I was also right about their ability to feed themselves from the land. A good proportion of the food I find, including berries, roots, leaves and even some meat, has clearly been hunted in and gathered from the arena. I employ my usual tactic of taking a little bit of everything, packing it into my bag before returning quickly to the shelter of the trees, pausing only to refill my water bottles in the lake.

* * *

And that is how I've remained for the past two days, hidden away in the forest, sleeping for the majority of the time and waking only for long enough to eat and drink. I have only the food I stole from Cato and Clove, and some berries I was lucky enough to find on my way back from the lake, and while I know I can't last on this alone for much longer, I don't have the energy to do anything about it. I've been alternating between extremes of temperature for at least a day and a night, one minute pulling my blanket tightly around myself in the vain attempt to get warm and then the next minute pushing it away, feeling like I'm sitting inside an oven.

I look down at my still-bandaged arm, knowing enough to know it's the cause of my problems, and see that my hand is even more swollen than it was before, the skin a disgusting colour that seems to be a mixture of red and purple. It must be severely infected now and there is nothing I can do about it, but in spite of my situation, I laugh quietly to myself. Maybe I'll deprive the Gamemakers of the opportunity to kill me in a manner of their choosing after all. If I manage that one little thing then at least I'll feel I've achieved something. It might be unfortunate that the only way I can do it is by dying of blood poisoning, but I guess I can't have everything.

Last night I'd been awake when the Capitol seal had lit up the sky and the anthem had played, the same ritual as usual, nothing changing. There had been no deaths yesterday, just as I'm sure there have been none today, so as the anthem begins to play once more, I curl up inside the tree trunk, pulling the blanket over my head in a pointless attempt to block out the noise.

When the sound of trumpets reaches me, I sit up, fully alert for the first time since I spied on Cato and Clove at the Cornucopia. I immediately lift the screen from the tree so I don't miss Claudius Templesmith's next revelation.

"Once again allow me to congratulate the six of you who remain. It is my great pleasure to invite you all to a feast."

Well that's just wonderful. How stupid do the Gamemakers think I am? Do they really think I'll fall for that one? Do they really think I'll go to wherever the feast is held based on the slight chance that there will be something worth having? Especially when I can say with absolute certainty that to do so would put me directly in the path of all of the other tributes, most of whom will see the feast as an opportunity to rid the arena of a few of their competitors. No chance. I still listen to the rest of Claudius' announcement though, and find myself having to rather rapidly think again as he continues.

"Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately." Yes I do, Claudius, I think. The only thing that will save me now apart from the end of the Games is Capitol medicine. "Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance."

His final words echo in my head long after he's stopped talking and the light of the seal in the sky has faded. '…your last chance' he had said, and in my case I know he was right. There is no way around it, I have to go to this feast, and from what I can make out from his words, so do all of the others. Since the rule change, I get the impression that events in the arena have slowed and that we are all being rather uninteresting. There have been no deaths anyway and that will not please the audience. I have no doubt that the Gamemakers know exactly what they are doing.

"So, Lysandra," I say to myself. "You need a plan."

* * *

So now what? I've been sitting here for at least an hour and every second that passes is a second closer to dawn. I know in my heart that Claudius Templesmith was right, that if I miss this chance then it will all be over, but that doesn't mean I know what to do. All five of the other remaining tributes are sure to be there for the feast, and I expect it will be a bit like the first day of the Games all over again. I am also guessing that that is what the Gamemakers want. Another bloodbath. After all, interviewing the friends and relatives of the survivors must be getting boring by now, and the mob must be kept entertained at whatever cost.

Even if I run to the Cornucopia as soon as the bags appear, the only thing I'm likely to end up with is one of Clove's knives in my back as I try to return to the relative safety of the trees if I'm lucky enough to make it that far, but what else can I do? Surely there must be another way, but if there is then it's most definitely eluding me. Having said that though, getting one of Clove's knives in my back is now starting to sound like a better idea than a slow death either from blood poisoning or at the hands of the Gamemakers.

'But that's not what you want', reminds the now ever-present nagging voice in my head. Over the past couple of days, during the brief times when the fever-induced haze has lifted, I have begun to understand that I'm carrying on with my fight against the arena and everyone in it and controlling it, not because I can see my victory, but because I want the opportunity to die how and when I choose. And right now I choose not to die only for the simple reason that I can't think of a way around the Gamemaker's trap that they call a feast. I will not be outwitted by a group of shallow and sadistic imbeciles from the Capitol. I will not.

So, that decided, I still need a plan. A better one than charging in with the rest of them and desperately hoping I get lucky. If only District 3 had left one of the landmines behind. I could have tried to reactivate it to use as a diversion, but he did his job too well, and I know without looking that they've all gone. I probably would have only succeeded in blowing myself up anyway.

I know I have to get to the bags first, because if I don't then one of the other tributes is bound to take my bag before I get to it, hoping that by depriving me of the thing I need so desperately, they will be ridding the arena of another opponent. What I really need now is sponsors. I wish Marcus would send me something, anything, although I'm not sure what he could possibly send that would be of any use.

As I think of Marcus, I remember his last words to me. 'Keep planning', he had said, 'keep one step ahead of the others', but he didn't tell me what I should do if the plans run out. Perhaps there is nothing I _can _do.

I sit staring into the darkness, replaying my mentor's words over and over again, on the verge of deciding to just race for the Cornucopia and see what happens, when it suddenly occurs to me. What if I take Marcus' words literally? What if I really do keep one step ahead of the others? More than one step actually. As many steps as it takes to get me inside the golden horn before dawn, before the feast even starts.

It's certainly a risk, but less of one than my only other alternative. If it works then I will be able to take them all by surprise. The last thing they'll expect is for me to run out of the Cornucopia itself, so I might just be able to grab my bag and sprint to the trees before any of them realise what I've done. Even better, they won't be able to follow me, because to do so would mean losing their own bag. Maybe I might live to see the full light of day after all.

Suddenly I feel a smile pull at my face for the first time in days. Finally a plan worthy of the Lysandra that I remember, the Lysandra I used to be, the girl who existed before the trials of the arena wore her down.

* * *

The journey to the lake that normally takes me about ten minutes has taken at least an hour already, and I'm still not there yet. I've never travelled around the arena at night before, creeping along in the darkness under the canopy of the trees which block out even the moonlight, taking one tiny step at a time while the branches pull and tear at the material of my trousers to scratch the skin beneath. What I wouldn't give for a pair of night-vision glasses. I don't dare try to light a torch as I'm half expecting to walk straight into one of the other tributes as it is. Why give them a target to aim for?

Every couple of strides I stop to listen, and I can't keep my eyes from squinting, attempting to see despite the total darkness. About five minutes later, I stop for what feels like the thousandth time and realise it doesn't seem quite as dark as it was. I can tell by the moonlight that shines through the gaps in the branches that the trees are thinning.

I almost subconsciously draw my knife from the waistband of my trousers, although what my subconscious self hopes to do with it I have no idea. I'm more likely to stab myself with it than one of the other tributes, especially with my left arm as useless as it is, and I really need my good hand free to grab the backpack at the first available opportunity. However I still keep a tight grip on the handle, grateful for the small amount of reassurance it gives me as I gaze over at the golden Cornucopia, which shines oddly in the light of the moon, revealing many tiny ridges on the surface that I haven't had time to notice before.

I stand there for several minutes, totally unable to believe my luck. I'd half expected my plan to fail before it had properly started, around about the time when I arrived to see Cato and Clove in position already, guarding the entrance to the Cornucopia just like they did on the first day, but of them there is no sign. I look up at the sky and decide there must be a good two or three hours until dawn, but I know that if I'm going to conceal myself inside the Cornucopia then I have to move immediately, when there is still a good chance I'm the first tribute to arrive and therefore there will be nobody there who will see where I go.

I assess the distance to the golden horn, looking to see if there is a halfway point, something I could hide behind if I find I do have company after all, but there's nothing. The area around the Cornucopia is completely flat, no doubt due to the fact that at least twenty landmines had exploded in this very spot only days before, so I guess I'll just have to make a run for it and hope for the best.

I take a deep breath, push myself out of the shelter of the trees and race across the plain, not slowing until I reach the side of the horn. I slowly creep towards the entrance, desperately trying to quieten my rapid breathing so I can listen to hear if anyone else has had the same idea as me. When no sound reaches me, I walk inside and see that the Careers really did strip it bare of all supplies. I don't know why I think of such an irrelevant thing at a time like this, but I can't help thinking how stupid they were, making the first mistake I've known them make. If I'd been one of the Career pack then I would have at least left some of the supplies in here in case the mines malfunctioned. Then we wouldn't all be desperate and starving like we are.

I sit down with my back leaning against cold metal, waiting for the arrival of the dawn with my knees tucked under my chin, pulling what's left of my jacket around me as tightly as I can in a futile attempt to block out what I'm sure is the Gamemaker-induced freezing cold.

I was so cold that I didn't expect to be able to fall asleep, but I obviously did, because the next thing I know I'm jumping to my feet, jolted awake by a loud cracking noise coming from the entrance of the Cornucopia. I walk the short distance to see what made the noise, being careful to stay in the shadow of the horn's wall so I can't be seen from the outside, and see the ground beginning to open up before me. As I watch, a table is raised up in the same way that we were put into the arena when the Games started.

It's quite a small and inoffensive looking table that's currently supporting the promised backpacks, two big black ones labelled with the numbers 2 and 11, a tiny orange one labelled with a 12, and a green one halfway between the rest in size with a 5. I wonder what it is that Katniss and Peeta need so desperately that will fit into a bag that small? And Cato and Clove seem to have everything they need apart from four more deaths, so what can the Gamemakers possibly be making them want to fight for?

"You don't have time to worry about it now, stupid," I say to myself as I push my aching body out of the Cornucopia with my good arm, clutching my injured one painfully to my chest inside my jacket, hoping that it won't hinder me so much that I can't run fast enough to get away before it's too late.

I race the short distance to the white table, reaching out to grab the green bag as I pass, before sprinting for the trees. For a brief moment I forget all of the pain I've felt over the past two weeks, feeling only fierce exultation that my ridiculously risky strategy has been successful even this far, but the feeling doesn't last for long.

I had thought I'd ran as fast as it was possible for me to run back on the first day of the Games when I was fleeing for my life, desperate to escape the bloodbath, but I think I'm running faster now. Running without looking back, ignoring the blinding pain from my arm as the bright green backpack bounces up and down on my shoulder, waiting for the telltale whistle of a knife as it flies through the air towards me. It never comes.

I'm finding it difficult to breathe by the time I reach the trees, days of near starvation making me tire more quickly than I had before, but I force myself to continue until I can't see the Cornucopia when I look back behind me. I stop then, just for a minute I tell myself, but I have a feeling that it will be a little longer before I'm ready to move on again. Suddenly everything starts to spin, the trees flying in circles around me, and as I lean over to be sick, I feel a rush of shame. How did it come to this? What is Cassie thinking as she watches me now? In a way I really hope it's all kicked off at the Cornucopia, as at least if it has then the pathetic creature I've become won't be getting much screen time.

I reach into my bag, the original one rather than the one from the feast, and take out my water bottle, rinsing out my mouth before drinking deeply. I allow myself to take a lot more water than I probably should given what little I have left, but I feel much better for it, and am able to summon up the strength to put both bags back onto my shoulders, preparing to move on. I only take one step forwards before I come to an immediate standstill, my blood running cold as I recognise the voice that sounds from behind me.

"So, we finally meet again, District 5."

I spin around to face the direction of the Cornucopia once more, and see Cato standing only a few metres away, looking almost as unchanged by the arena as Thresh did, his sword drawn in readiness to claim another victim.

It's then that I truly realise how much my condition has deteriorated in the past couple of days. I must have almost ran straight into him when I fled from the feast table, and yet I didn't even notice. I'm well beyond afraid by now, and feel only anger at myself. I should have noticed. If it had been a few short days ago, I'm sure I would have.

But what is he doing here? Why isn't he at the Cornucopia? The fact he's here and not there shows how confident he and Clove must be that victory is their's. Either that or he just couldn't resist such an easy opportunity to be rid of one of only four people that stand between them and a one way trip back to District 2. I pull the knife from my belt and throw it as hard as I can in his direction, knowing that there is no chance of it actually hitting him but seeking to distract him, giving me time to do something about the suddenly very precarious position I find myself in.

As I predicted, the knife misses him by miles, but it does give me the time I need to pull myself up into the tall tree behind me. I drag myself up as high as I can as quickly as I can, ignoring the protests from my arm, the pain so great that I have to fight not to pass out.

Cato follows me to stand at the base of the tree, gazing up at me through the branches, the expression on his face showing how unimpressed and bored he is by the whole situation.

"Did you know, District 5, that you are the second tribute to try and escape from me by climbing up a tree? It's becoming an annoying habit." He looks up into the tree, this time focussing on the branches high above my head. "But there are no tracker jacker nests in this tree, so it looks like you won't be as lucky."

"What do you mean?" I ask, trying to keep him talking even though I can guess much of what he refers to. So it _was _a tribute that dropped the tracker jacker nest on the Careers. Good for them, whoever they were.

"It doesn't matter," he replies, resisting my attempt to draw him into conversation. "I don't have time for this. If you come down here now then you have my word that I'll make it quick."

"And if I don't?"

"Then we'll stay in this position until the feast is over. Then Clove will come to find me, and trust me, you don't want that," he says slowly, every word dripping with threat. "She's far more imaginative than I."

As I stare into his cold but strangely beautiful eyes, I'm surprised to find myself actually considering complying with his suggestion, the promise of a quick death seeming appealing after days and days of hunger, thirst and pain.

'Don't,' a voice in my head shouts over and over again. 'How can you even consider giving up like that?'. After a few moments, something snaps inside my head and I come abruptly back to my senses. I break Cato's unwavering stare and turn to look at the branch of the tree, berating myself for letting him get to me.

The deathly silence that surrounds us is broken less than a second later, and my eyes return to focus on my attacker once more as a single word screamed out in absolute terror echoes around the arena from the direction of the Cornucopia. That word is a name.

"Cato!"

I've heard her speak often enough to know it's Clove who is shouting, but as the frantic call comes again I recognise true fear in her voice, and I'm shocked to hear it. Fear is an emotion I have never once associated with the formidable girl from District 2, and Cato, her lover, the one who seems to know her best, is obviously as stunned as I am to hear her desperate call for help. He immediately turns and sprints back towards the Cornucopia, calling her name, my existence forgotten as his mind is completely consumed by the need to get to Clove in time to come to her aid.

It had been my intention to put as much distance between myself and the Cornucopia as I possibly could, but hearing Clove's panic has awakened my old curiosity and constant need to know what's happening. Before my mind has fully caught up with my body, I find myself on the floor at the base of the tree. I sprint after Cato, knowing that even if he hears me following he won't stop to do anything about it.

Despite him being a lot fitter and in considerably better shape than I am, I quickly catch up with the man from District 2, as, being about a quarter of his size, I'm able to squeeze through gaps in the trees and bushes that he is forced to go around. When I approach the Cornucopia, I turn away from the path that Cato is following, heading towards my favourite hiding place so that I can once more observe events and remain unnoticed.

I'm temporarily stunned by what I see when I peer through the foliage at the feast table. Thresh is standing over Katniss, holding up a huge rock in his hand as if he is about to strike her with it, and she has clearly come to the realisation that there is no way out for her as she lies there helpless, holding a bow but with no arrows left to fire. For some reason Thresh seems to hesitate, asking Katniss something about Rue as if he is trying to establish her part in the young girl's death, though why it matters I have no idea.

My eyes search the plain, and it's then that I see Clove, collapsed on the ground a couple of metres away from the table, and it's only the fact that no cannons have fired combined with the low and seemingly involuntary moaning that escapes her lips that indicates to me that she still lives. Even from this distance I can see she doesn't have long left.

Although I didn't see him do it, the only possible explanation I can see is that Thresh hit her with the rock, probably on the head, before turning his rage on Katniss. So why doesn't he finish what he has started and kill the girl from District 12 too? He told me himself that he will kill to get home if that is the only option, so why is he not killing when one of his last remaining rivals is powerless to fight back?

I get my explanation when I refocus my attention on their strange conversation in time to hear Thresh telling Katniss that he's letting her go, but I don't pretend to understand completely why. It's still something to do with Rue, and how Katniss tried to help her when she was caught by District 1. Hearing this makes me wish I had questioned Thresh more when I saw him that night on the roof of the Training Centre. What was so special about Rue that he would give her ally the chance to escape in honour of her memory? Perhaps that's just the sort of person that he is.

It's then that Cato bursts through the trees onto the plain, calling Clove's name all the louder now that she has stopped answering him, and as he does, it occurs to me that Thresh may have another reason for letting Katniss go. Assuming that he knows about the relationship between the pair from District 2, he's sure to know that by killing Clove he will bring down the full force of Cato's fury upon himself. Maybe he just wants somebody who is capable of challenging his fearsome adversary to remain alive for long enough to do so.

I can tell the exact moment that Cato sees Clove lying lifelessly on the ground at Thresh's feet, because the combination of such anger and intense grief in his voice as he calls her name once more is like nothing I have ever heard before. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck and I continue to shiver long after the arena falls silent despite the increase in temperature.

"You better run now, Fire Girl," says Thresh to Katniss, and she jumps to her feet, running as fast as she can towards the woods without hesitation. I don't know why she bothered. Surely she can see that she could stand directly in front of Cato and ask him to kill her and he would still go after Thresh.

While Katniss seems to fail to understand the situation, it's obvious that Thresh knows what's going on. He pulls both his own bag and the one belonging to District 2 from the feast table before taking off in the direction of the void, as if he knows that he has nothing to lose.

I watch as Cato kneels on the ground beside Clove, again feeling that I'm intruding on their privacy by being here and listening to what they say to each other. Not that Clove looks in a position to say anything at all anymore.

"Stay with me Clove," Cato begs, the pleading tone in his voice so very different to his usual harsh words. "We have so many sponsors, just hold on for a bit longer and they'll send us medicine. Clove, say something! You can't leave me, I won't let you. We're meant to win this thing together. Why do you think the Gamemakers changed the rules? This is the first year that two tributes can return home victorious. They did it for us. Clove!"

He shouts her name one more time, leaning down to shake her before seeing that his actions are only making her condition worse. She's no longer groaning, probably because she doesn't want him to see her pain, I think at first, but she looks so far gone that I don't think she can even hear him let alone respond. She finds the strength from somewhere though, because then I see her lips move in the pale light of dawn. I don't know what she said, as even Cato has to lean right down to hear her, but his response is instantaneous.

"No!" he shouts, his voice echoing around the plain as if he had shouted the same word many thousands of times. He drops the spear he'd been holding and takes both of her hands in his. "I'll never do it! I never could have done it!"

She whispers to him again and raises a trembling hand to tap his coat pocket. He looks down at the pocket for a second before letting go of one of her hands to take out a knife. Her eyelids flutter open for the first time and her eyes immediately find his. When she speaks again, her voice is loud enough for me to just about make out what she says.

"Please, Cato. It hurts. I'm dead already, there's nothing you can do. Please…do this one last thing for me…make the pain stop."

As he looks at her, clearly unable to find words, I remember how I felt when Alecto had asked me to do the same thing for him, knowing that this is many, many times worse for Cato than it was for me. I couldn't take Alecto's life any more than Cato seems able to take Clove's, and she seems to sense it too, because she struggles to speak once more.

"Do it," she says, with as much conviction as she can manage. "Then make sure you win this thing for both of us, or my ghost will find yours and kill you all over again as a punishment."

Cato stares into her eyes for several seconds before coming to a decision.

"I'll kill him for this, I swear it. I'll kill them all."

Then he sits up, his eyes never leaving hers, his facial expression unchanging as he draws the knife along his own hand to seal his oath, deep enough to produce a stream of blood that I can see clearly flowing onto the arena floor. Then he leans back down over her so she can't see him position the knife over her heart.

A second after he kisses her forehead as he plunges the knife into her chest, her cannon sounds and his wordless cry of inconsolable sorrow and rage joins it, sure to reach all corners of the arena in the same way. The first thing I think is that I wouldn't like to be in Thresh's shoes. Even if he left the arena, I'm certain that the whole country would not be big enough to hide him from Cato now.

I'm too stunned to move as I watch Cato take a visibly deep breath before reaching to remove the knife from his dead lover's heart, taking something from around Clove's neck and swapping it with a similar token that he removes from around his own before he sits upright again. I remember noticing them wearing them in training, two identical chain necklaces with what looked like the ID tags that soldiers wear attached.

I had been curious enough to ask Marcus, the nearest I'll get to an expert in all things District 2, what they were and what meaning they had. He'd confirmed my guess that they were replicas of Capitol-issue army ID tags, and that each would-be-tribute receives one with their name and number engraved onto it when they are deemed good enough to enter the main tribute training school. To use as a district token if they ever make it to the Capitol, he had said, because it is not like any of them have any family to give them another.

Cato crosses Clove's hands over the wound, leaving the knife resting on her chest underneath them so she appears to be holding the handle, before standing up and looking at her for the last time. When I see the look in his eyes as he turns to face the direction of the void that Thresh disappeared into, I involuntarily jump back. I had always thought him unreasonably aggressive and quick to anger but this is different. It's almost as if Clove's death caused a switch to flick off inside his head, pushing him over the thin line between sanity and madness, and I can almost sense the anticipation radiating from the viewers back in the Capitol. No more watching the tributes creeping around and the Careers making easy kills.

Now they are going to get the epic battle they've been waiting for.


	12. Chapter 12

**_I've written the end of the chapter as an alternate ending to the epilogue - you can choose which one you prefer..._**

Chapter Twelve

I sit concealed in the bush staring straight across the plain and into the distance without really seeing anything at all, so shocked am I by all I've just witnessed. If the whole purpose of the feast was to provide the audience with the entertainment they so desperately crave, then both Gamemakers and audience certainly got all they wished for and more. I think I've seen more than a lifetime's worth of horrific sights already today and the sun hasn't even fully risen yet.

A hovercraft appearing out of thin air a couple of metres above the Cornucopia is what finally jolts me out of my stupor. It drifts across a short distance and, in a similar way to how I felt when I had witnessed Lucas' death, my eyes follow as the metal claw is lowered down, desperate not to watch but unable to look away. The way it raises Clove off the ground and into the air is almost gentle, and I watch entranced by the sunlight that reflects off her hair as she's lifted upwards.

There's a sudden flash of light as Cato's district token slips around her neck to hang down below her, the sun reflecting off the metal to make it sparkle like a diamond. Before I can furiously push the thoughts away, I realise it's not hate or pity I feel when I look at the body of the girl from District 2, but jealousy. Whichever small part of my brain that still feels the normal emotions of a sixteen-year-old girl wishes I could know what it's like to be as loved as she was, to have somebody who would lay down his life for mine and, when the unthinkable happened, stop at nothing to avenge my death. But that part of me isn't allowed to surface very often, and is quickly beaten into submission by the more realistic part, which returns my focus to more practical matters.

When the hovercraft has vanished, I drag myself to my feet and step out into the open, safe in the knowledge that there's nobody left in the arena who is thinking about me, for now at least. As ever, my first priority is water, so I walk the short distance to the lake, reaching up to rub my tired eyes as I do. I'm surprised to find that doing so leaves my hands wet with tears I hadn't realised I had cried.

Once I've filled both of my water containers, I begin to make my way slowly back towards the trees. Then I notice the extra weight on my back and remember the green backpack. I really must be losing the plot if I can forget that. I'm getting to be more of a danger to myself than to the other tributes, I think, and I smile a little at the thought, although what is funny about it I have no idea. 'Yet another sign of madness', says the voice in my head. A bit like talking to yourself, but never mind. It's a bit late to worry about that now.

When I get to the woods, I sit on the floor at the base of a tree and unzip the bag. The first thing I pull out is a small box. The box is totally pure white, and it's almost blinding after being surrounded by the greens and browns of the arena for so long. I open it to reveal a single syringe, full of the clear liquid that will save my life, at least for a while longer.

I take it out of the box and examine the label on it, remembering the drug name from my work in the labs. This single syringe is probably worth more than the entire of District 12, and they have given it to me. It just shows how much the Capitol have, how easily they take for granted things that are beyond the reach of even the richest people in the districts. I suddenly jump then, as it's almost as if I can hear Cassie shouting through the television screen at me, telling me to stop messing about and get on with it. I pull the cap off the needle and roll the left sleeve of my jacket up. The burn is still covered with the dressing I haven't been able to bring myself to remove since I tried to bathe it in the lake, and my hand is still purple. The fact I no longer feel pain, in my hand at least, is clearly a bad sign, but for a second I really don't want to stick the needle into my skin.

"Stop being so ridiculous," I say to myself through gritted teeth. "With all of the things you've seen in the past few weeks, how can you be scared of the needle that will save your life?"

Realising my stupidity, I plunge the needle into my upper arm and push the plunger. I can almost feel the solution flow into my blood, and I fall back against the tree, suddenly too dizzy to hold myself upright. If I'd been a citizen of the Capitol and this was supposed to be my miracle cure then I would want my money back, as if anything I feel worse than I did before.

* * *

It's still light when I wake, so I guess I must have only been unconscious for one or two hours. It's an improvement on my usual one or two days anyway, so maybe things are looking up. Now all I need is for Thresh and Cato to kill each other and I'll be well on my way out of here.

I sit up, and as I do, I realise that my head feels clear for the first time in days. The different colours of the trees and leaves seem brighter than they have done for a long time, and I can notice small details like the row of mockingjay nests high in the branches above me that I would have missed before. Maybe there is something to be said about Capitol medicine after all. Not that I've ever doubted its efficacy, just the methods used to develop it.

I don't really know what to do now. I can't exactly go after Cato and Thresh, and I discard the idea of trying to find the pair from District 12 almost straight away. Since I threw my knife at Cato, I have no weapons, and I'm hardly fit and ready to attack even if I did. Back to the old routine then, return to the forest until inspiration hits me or something happens to make me move.

* * *

I stop about halfway back to my favourite den, sitting down and leaning against a tree once more, unpacking the rest of the feast backpack and discovering what I haven't had for such a long time: a decent meal. I stay in the same position, eating until I can eat no more. But that doesn't take as long as I thought it would. My stomach must have shrunk after going without for so long.

My heart sinks when I look down at my left hand. Despite the medication, which, judging from how much better I feel, is well on its way to removing all trace of infection from my body, the skin of my hand is still a funny colour and I can't grip properly. When a leaf falls from one of the trees to land on it, I feel nothing. I take a deep breath and roll up my jacket sleeve, preparing to peel off the mud splattered and filthy bandage. There wasn't much I could have done to prevent it, but no wonder it got infected.

I hadn't noticed I'd been holding my breath until I exhale deeply, only after seeing that the disgusting mixture of blood and pus that was oozing from the burn before has disappeared with barely a trace remaining. What is left is a mass of thick scar tissue, which stands out all the more next to my almost white undamaged skin.

Cassie told me once when I was a very young girl that if a burn is very deep then a person will feel nothing because all of the nerves are destroyed. I'd told her then that she was being stupid and had accused her of making up stories to try and put me off putting too much wood into the laboratory ovens, which I used to do simply to see how high I could get the flames to go, but now I know she spoke the truth.

It seems somehow appropriate that I should receive such a permanent physical injury as a result of the Games, a visible demonstration of the turmoil inside my head. For, just as my arm will never heal enough to return to its previous form, I will never be able to return to what I was before the Games either. Whether I leave the Capitol in the District 5 tribute train or in a hovercraft inside a wooden box, my life will change in ways that I can't even begin to comprehend, and the more I think about that, the more I think that it won't be change for the better.

But I can't think about that now. I have to keep going. For Cassie's sake if not for my own. As far as I know anyway, the Capitol haven't yet developed a way to read minds, and therefore whatever morbid and rebellious thoughts I consider inside my head are a secret from them, but if I'm going to make them anything more than idle thoughts then I need a plan. And for that I need somewhere familiar to rest and think.

I walk the remaining distance to the clearing where my hollow tree is, or at least where it should be, only to find that it's not there. 'Now you're really losing it, Lysa,', I say to myself. 'How many times have you been here? How can you possibly get lost?'

The only obvious explanation is that I've been so lost in my thoughts that I've accidentally gone the wrong way, so I carry on walking, retracing my steps in an attempt to find something I recognise. The further I walk, the more the feeling that something is wrong grows. I can sense there is someone or something watching me, but when I turn around there is nothing there. Nothing but more trees and bushes, so familiar and yet so strange at the same time. The sun keeps shining and the mockingjays keep singing, but this isn't right. Either my mind is playing tricks on me or the Gamemakers are, and as much as I'm beginning to doubt my own sanity, I don't think I've lost it quite that much.

So it must be the Gamemakers. They must have done whatever they've done during the feast, when I was too distracted to notice anything. I can see them now in my head, as if they are right in front of me, sitting there in the control room, eating their ludicrously expensive food and drinking their even more expensive wine while they have a good laugh at my expense. When I think of them, I understand something else about myself. I might not have been able to bring myself to kill a single tribute in the arena, even when presented with an opportunity that should have been too good to miss, but that doesn't mean I'm totally incapable of killing. When I think of the Gamemakers, I know with absolute certainty that I could kill them and feel very little remorse.

They think no tribute can get the better of them, that there is nothing in the arena they cannot control, but I am still a person, a person with her own thoughts and ideas that not even the almighty Capitol can be in command of. It's the thought that, one way or another, they won't get the better of me that overrides all others and gives me the courage I need to make myself take another step forwards.

* * *

I've been walking for a couple of hours now, and when I look up at the sky I can tell it's early evening already. It will be dark very soon and I know it's essential I find a new hiding place by then. After all, the other tributes might be fighting their own battles that I play no part in, but the hated Gamemakers are still watching my every move. The second they decide the audience needs more entertainment, they could send just about anything into the arena and I know I'm the obvious target. More obvious than the star-crossed lovers from District 12 anyway, and certainly more obvious than Cato and Thresh.

I can say with absolute certainly that the Gamemakers will do nothing to get in the way of their inevitable confrontation, but it would just about round off a perfect day if they decided I was going to be the warm up act. At least when there is daylight I have a chance of seeing whatever it is before it's too late, but in the darkness I have no chance.

* * *

It's almost dark and I've just about given up hope of finding anywhere when I trip over a fallen branch and land flat on my stomach just in front of a large bush, which has thick, heavy looking branches that are covered in huge dark green leaves. I push my way underneath it and am relieved to see that there is enough room for me to shelter without being seen from the outside. It's still nowhere near as good as my previous hiding place though. Stupid Gamemakers. What I wouldn't give for a replacement knife and the chance to be locked in a room with them. I'm irrationally sure that my anger would give me knife-fighting skills to rival Clove's, and, if it meant I could have my revenge for all of the pain and suffering they've inflicted upon me and my fellow tributes, then I'm positive that being executed for murder and treason against the Capitol would seem merely a minor drawback.

The thought of Clove stops me abruptly in my tracks and I quickly force myself to change the subject. Thinking of her only makes me relive the moment of her death, and when I do that, all I can see is the look in Cato's eyes when he left her body to go after Thresh. I will remember that look forever, and don't think anything has ever frightened me more. While he was willing to offer me a quick death when he had cornered me in the tree before the feast, I don't think the offer would still stand. A long and painful death is the only thing awaiting anyone caught by Cato now, and despite the fact that my life doesn't seem as precious as it did a few short weeks ago, the thought of enduring a death like that makes my heart race in blind panic.

'Have I not suffered enough already today?' I ask the Gamemakers, inside my head of course. Obviously not, as seconds later the sky suddenly turns black and it begins to rain, only slightly to start with but quickly getting heavier. I try to get as close to the centre of the bush as I can, as the foliage is denser there and gives me better shelter, wrapping my arms tightly around my body. It's then that I properly notice for the first time exactly how thin I have become. I have always been small and slightly built, but now I can feel each one of my ribs even through the material of my shirt and jacket. One way or another the Games is going to be over for me very soon.

* * *

About an hour later it's completely dark and I'm still sitting in the same position, listening to rain I can't see as it gets progressively heavier. The bush is just about keeping me dry at the moment but I have a feeling that if the rain continues then I'll end up getting a soaking I can't avoid. And that's all I need. Not only am I cold, starving and thoroughly miserable, but soon I'll be drenched with rain water too.

Despite what I hope are their lack of mind reading skills, I suddenly think I shouldn't even be thinking this in case I give the Gamemakers ideas. After all, everything from a tribute's minor fears to their very worst nightmares have a habit of turning into reality in the arena. And it must be the Gamemakers who are controlling the weather. This is no natural storm. It can't be as the sky turned black in a matter of seconds. I wonder what they are doing it for? Surely they have better things to do than give me an unwanted shower? Unless it's not for me. Maybe the battle has begun and this is merely a special effect. That would be typical of the Capitol anyway, always over-the-top, never content to leave anything without alteration.

I pull my blanket, which has survived its time in the arena considerably better than I have and has probably escaped with less holes in it too, out of my bag and wrap it tightly around myself before lying back down on the cold and damp ground. The temperature has been falling steadily ever since the rain started and, as I hear the first clap of thunder, I get the impression that the Gamemakers haven't finished meddling.

If you ask me then their capacity for stupidity seems truly infinite. Honestly, they want battles to entertain the audience and yet they keep distorting everything and always going that little bit further. They would get what they want a whole lot quicker if they just left well alone. I wouldn't be at all surprised if Cato and Thresh either freeze to death or drown before they even get to look at each other.

As I lie there shivering in my blanket, I can picture them out there, the one facing the prospect of a confrontation I imagine he had desperately hoped to avoid, and the other equally as desperate for that confrontation to begin so he can have the revenge he craves more than anything else. The battle to end all Hunger Games battles. District 11 against District 2. Thresh against Cato.

When the Capitol seal appears in the sky but isn't followed by anyone's photograph, I don't really feel surprised. It would have been easy to miss the sound of a cannon firing because of the thunder, but, for some reason that I can't explain, I know there have been no deaths since the feast. They must still be out there fighting.

To go on for so long, the battle must be living up to all expectations, and I bet that as a result, money is changing hands at an alarming rate back in the Capitol, with most of its population trying to decide which of the two tributes will be victorious. I wonder if any of them stop to consider for even a second that they are making a game out of a fight that will only end with the death of at least one of the participants. For what seems like the millionth time, I feel stunned by what can only be the ignorance of the people of what we have to say is Panem's greatest city. How can they be so brainwashed? How can they not see?

I know in my heart that I want the man from District 11 to win, the man who seems so kind and gentle despite his threatening appearance and demeanour, but however much I may wish it, I can't see it happening. Even if they don't view the battle on such as personal level as I do, I can see many people in the Capitol expecting Thresh to survive, thinking that Cato's grief for Clove will make him vulnerable and more likely to make mistakes now he finally has to fight an opponent who matches him in strength and power if not in skill and training.

But they weren't there when Clove died, they were merely watching through their television screens. If they had been there and seen what happened with their own eyes, if they had felt the atmosphere in the arena change as they watched Cato swear by his own blood to avenge her death with the blood of her killer, then they would agree with me. The death of his lover has only made Cato stronger, giving him a single thing to focus on, a single goal to channel all of his years of training and all of his rage and pain into. There is no way that Thresh will live through this.

And all I can do is wait. Wait for the battle to be over, wait for Katniss and Peeta to make their move, wait for the Gamemakers to move onto the next chapter of entertainment and decide they have a role for me, or just wait for death. Whatever is going to happen, I am still waiting.

* * *

It has rained solidly for two whole days, never ceasing even for a second, the crashes of thunder so loud that I frequently find myself startled awake and thinking that the sky is breaking in two. I was right in thinking that the bush would only keep me dry for so long, and I'm now soaked to the skin and so cold I can't feel my hands and feet. Will this ever end?

I'd considered returning to the Cornucopia, but that place holds far too many bad memories for me, and anyway, being there and sitting inside something so synonymous with the Hunger Games would make me feel considerably closer to the Gamemakers than I would wish. At the thought of the golden horn, I suddenly remember the feast table rising up out of the ground, which makes me consider what else they could raise up into the arena using the same method if the fancy took them. It's much better that I don't present them with an easy target that's only a few short metres away.

So here I've been sitting for the past two days and nights, getting progressively more drenched but finding myself unable to resist the urge to stand out in the rain each night when the Capitol seal appears in the sky, all the more desperate to know what's going on now I have no way of finding out. So far there has been nothing, and the only thing I've learnt is that the rainwater really is just rainwater.

I'd finished the last of my water yesterday, and was considering going to the lake to fill the containers back up again, when I realised that it's raining so heavily that they would probably fill up in a matter of minutes if I just put them away from the shelter of the leaves. What I'm not proud of is that it took me well over an hour to summon up the courage to drink the water, worried that the Gamemakers had poisoned it in some way.

Eventually I also remembered that even if the water is poisoned then the lake will be full of it by now anyway, and it's another hour before the embarrassment at taking so long to work that one out fades away. I'm sure staying in this arena is killing my brain cells, as I never used to be so slow. 'It must be the lack of food', says a voice in my head, going some way to reassuring me that I've not lost all powers of reasoning quite yet.

I've thought it many times over the past couple of days, and now once more it occurs to me that the battle must be everything that both the Gamemakers and the audience could have dreamed of, as no faces have been projected into the sky since Clove. Over the past couple of hours, the sky seems to have got a bit lighter, and I notice I can actually hear the opening chords of the anthem rather than them being drowned out by the thunder, so maybe it is finally over. One way or another.

I stretch the stiff and cramped muscles of my arms and legs, then push myself out into the rain to stare up at the sky. I'm not quite sure why as I didn't really know him, but I feel a stab of grief pass through me when Thresh's face appears. The news of his death should not be a surprise to me, as I'd been expecting it for days now, but still I mourn for a good man who was, for different reasons, as unsuited to the arena as I am myself.

And on a completely selfish note, if Thresh can't defeat Cato then how can I? For one of the first times in my life, I can genuinely say I can't think of a plan. I have nothing but a bottle of water, a blanket and my own broken and battered body, and I somehow don't think that any of those will help me fight a fully trained District 2 Career who is driven more than half mad with grief.

Does this mean I'm going to have to spend what will surely be the last days or even hours of my life waiting to see whether it's him or the Gamemakers who find me first? Probably, but I'll be very surprised if anything happens tonight. Even the Capitol people will need to sleep after what have no doubt been two sleepless nights spent glued to their television screens so they don't miss a second of the battle.

I crawl back underneath my living shelter and curl up on the ground with my knees tucked under my chin. It takes about two seconds for me to go from a stony-faced lack of emotion to floods of tears, my whole body shaking as I cry until I can cry no more, crying for Thresh, Lucas, Alecto and all of the others who didn't deserve to die, and probably crying for my father too, in a way that I haven't done since I was a young girl. I wish he was here now, I wish he could take me in his arms like he had used to and make all of the fear go away. I just want to go home. All I want is for it all to be over.

* * *

I fell asleep with my head full of images of my father, both from the good times and the bad, and when I wake I'm thinking of him still. I stare through a gap in the leaves at the tree opposite, and for some reason I remember one of the last conversations I ever had with him, assuming of course, that you can call a six-year-old girl's endless questioning of her parent having a conversation. I think if you had asked Father at the time then he might have thought 'interrogation' would be a more appropriate description.

It had been the day after one of Laboratory 7's many potentially dangerous experiments had gone horribly wrong, and I'd been very confused to find that two of the people who usually worked with my father were no longer there to assist him. When I'd asked him where they had gone, he had, perhaps sensibly, gone for the approach of confirming that they were indeed no longer there, before rapidly trying to change the subject. But my six-year-old self, who was as stubborn as I am now and twice as hungry for knowledge, wouldn't allow such a blatant attempt at diverting her questions. As I'd heard other people speculating about what had happened in the lab as they walked through the corridors, I already knew what everyone was asking: 'How many people died?'.

I didn't really understand what dying meant then, but I'd repeated the question to Father anyway, hoping that it would produce a more satisfactory explanation for the absence of his assistants. Despite being so young at the time, I still remember the way his face paled as soon as the words left my mouth, and I'm now old enough to understand that the reaction happened when he realised he'd have to answer me properly. He had struggled to control his emotions when he told me that when a person dies, the people who are still alive can't see them anymore, and that is because they've gone to a better place far away from here.

I'd been totally convinced by his words at the time, and I think I recall that memory now because I wish I could still be so certain that what he said was true. I find myself imagining that better place, hoping it's a place with no more arena, no more labs, and, perhaps most importantly, no more Capitol.

So this is it then. It's finally happened. I've reached the point where I can genuinely consider taking my own life and not be so repulsed by the idea that I discount it immediately. As soon as my name had been drawn from the reaping ball I wondered if it would come to this and now it has.

'But Lysa, you can't even consider it,' I say to myself in my head, not daring to do as much as whisper the words in case that the Gamemakers work out what I'm thinking. For if they do then the consequences will be worse than I could ever imagine, and not just for me. This is the Hunger Games and suicide is not an option. It is simply not a variable that the Gamemakers can control and therefore one they most definitely do not permit.

It's then that I remember Lucas' death. How I had thought him a fool at the same time as I had admired his bravery when he so obviously threw himself onto Cato's knife. Did he not realise that if the Capitol couldn't punish him for his crime then they would punish his family and anyone else close to him? That's what they do, what they think they have to do to maintain absolute control. If they can no longer get to the so-called criminal then it's always their nearest and dearest who pay the price. I've seen it so many times before and I know that however wretched and miserable I feel, I could never do that to Cassie. Which means I've made my choice, which can only be to continue. And if I'm going to do that then I need water and food.

I walk slowly through the still unfamiliar woods in the direction of the lake, which still appears to be the only water source in the arena. I'd expected there to be small puddles of rainwater everywhere, remnants of the heaviest storm I've ever seen, but there is nothing. It's as if the storm never happened. How typical of the Gamemakers. Why make anything easy when it's so much more entertaining to make it difficult?

I only stop when I approach the entrance of the Cornucopia, half expecting to hear Cato's voice and feeling something that greatly resembles disappointment when I don't. Not that I think he would grant me the quick death he was so quick to promise me at the feast, but at least if I had to face him then I would have something else to focus on other than the slow but rapidly increasing deterioration of my own condition.

"Would you just stop being so morbid and depressing, Lysa?" I instruct myself out loud before I can stop myself, just catching my words before I continue to say 'it's no wonder you feel suicidal'. I don't think that would go down well with the Gamemakers.

I walk over to the lake and immediately jump back in shock when I see my reflection. If the cameras are watching me right now then the entire population of Panem probably thinks me at least as insane as Cato, as I can't hold back my hysterical laughter. I return to gaze at myself in the water, unable to prevent the image of the horrified expression that surely must be permanently etched onto my stylist Claudius' face every time he sees me on camera from replacing that of my own face.

One half of my hair is plastered to my head, probably due to spending the majority of the past few days lying on my side on damp ground, and the other half is literally sticking out at right angles. I think there are more leaves on me than are still on the bush, and my once almost white skin is now mostly a muddy shade of brown. I consider trying to wash off some of the dirt in the lake, but it somehow doesn't seem worth it. Everyone might be watching me on their television screens, but I don't think they really care that much about my appearance, and anyway, the little part of my old pre-arena self that still remains suddenly wants to cover myself in even more mud just in case I do live to return to the Capitol. I wouldn't want my support team to think the Games have changed me so much that I'd miss an opportunity to torment my stylist, would I?

So now I have water, what I really need is food, which could present me with a bit more of a problem. I guess it will have to be berries again, but even those seem to be in short supply, in this area of the arena at least.

I begin to walk slowly back through the forest, not paying that much attention to where I'm going and only half-heartedly listening out for the other tributes. For the next couple of hours I keep going, walking further away from the Cornucopia than I've been since I came up with my risky and surprisingly successful strategy on the first day of the Games. I see no signs of life other than the mockingjays, which seem to delight in swooping down to perch on the lowest of the tree branches, singing nonsensical songs to me before flying away again. Despite the irritating noise, their presence is reassuring, partly because it tells me I'm not totally alone, and also because I've started to notice that they usually stop singing if anyone or anything is approaching. They seem to sense the arrival of the Capitol hovercrafts before they actually appear, and if they can do that then I'm almost certain that nothing else the Gamemakers could send into the arena would escape their notice. The mockingjays of the arena have achieved something else through their presence anyway, as I can now say that if I survive I could never carry out another scientific experiment on one ever again. In fact I probably wouldn't even be able to bear being in the same room as one, so greatly have I come to associate them with my time here.

I abruptly stop walking when the sound of loud footsteps reaches me. The sound was quiet at first, but it rapidly gets louder, and it very soon sounds like there are at least four or five people walking through the forest straight towards me, even though I know that there can't be. Not including myself there are only three others left, and I know for sure that one of those three would never team up with the other two.

Despite the deterioration in both my physical and mental state, I quickly find that the instinct to run and hide has not left me, and I'm concealed behind a tree before my brain even processes my thoughts. It's not long before I hear their voices and realise it's Katniss and Peeta. This might be the opportunity I need, assuming of course that they have food for me to steal. They must have. People in the Capitol are sure to fall for their star-crossed lovers act and will therefore be tripping over themselves to sponsor the pair from District 12. I can't see them yet, but Peeta's voice drifts across the clearing well enough.

"Katniss, we need to split up. I know that I'm chasing away the game."

So they can't have that much food then, if Katniss feels that she needs to hunt. It looks like I'll have to wait and hope she's successful before any attempt to take anything.

"Only because your leg's hurt," is Katniss' reply, but I can tell from the tone of her voice that she knows full well that his injury isn't the only reason why Peeta moves through the forest making more noise than the entire Career Pack ever did. He has obviously never had to move silently anywhere and probably doesn't even realise how noisy he is being.

Katniss tries to get Peeta to go and hide while she goes to hunt, attempting to word her proposition in a way that won't be too damaging to the boy's ego, but she doesn't succeed, and is eventually persuaded to show him which plants are safe to eat so he can gather roots when she is away.

I wait for a few minutes to make sure that Katniss has gone, remembering what Clove said to Cato about her taking the bow and arrows from Glimmer's body and deciding she's a far bigger threat to me than Peeta, before creeping closer and watching the boy from the coal district obediently gathering roots as instructed for a considerable amount of time. Maybe he does really love her. He must do to follow such an order with the excessive heat of the midday sun shining down continuously onto the back of his neck as he leans down. He looks greatly weakened by the arena as it is, and doing such a thing will only make his condition worse.

Eventually the heat gets too much for him and he disappears into the trees on the other side of the clearing, but just as I'm about to step out of my hiding place to help myself to some of the roots, I hear him crashing back in this direction. He walks over to the plastic sheet onto which he had put the roots and deposits a large amount of deep purple berries, then vanishes back the way he came.

As soon as he has gone, I race across the clearing to the plastic sheet, but the first thing I look at is not that but an orange backpack lying on the ground next to it. I open the bag and see that they really don't have much food at all. What happened to all of the sponsors? Maybe I wasn't the only person who found Cato and Clove more convincing. All that's there is a single apple, two rolls and a small amount of cheese. As I don't want them to know I've been here, the only thing I can safely take is some of the cheese, so I guess that will have to do. I start to break a piece off, looking across at the berries and roots on the plastic sheet as I do.

I stare at the berries for a few seconds in shock. I haven't seen them in the arena before but I recognise them immediately, having used them in experiments back in the labs so many times in the past. Nightlock. Berries that contain one of the deadliest natural poisons that I know. If I leave them here for the pair from District 12 to eat then all I will have to do is think of a way of dealing with Cato and then I'll be on my way home. 'Home to what?' asks a voice in my head, 'A lifetime of sending the future tributes of District 5 to their deaths while living in complete subjugation to the Capitol in the world's most luxurious prison, that's what. Is that what you want?'

I reach forward and take a handful of both the roots and the berries, being very careful to keep my expression as neutral as I can so the Gamemakers simply think I'm up to my usual tricks as normal, before retreating a short distance away to think.

If I want a way out then I'll never get a better one than this, I think to myself, as I sit concealed in the foliage slowly eating the cheese. The Gamemakers will never know that I rebelled in the end, that _I _chose how it all ended not them, and if they don't know then they won't punish Cassie for my crime. Cassie. What must she be thinking now? She will know that I know what I'm doing, and so will Marcus. The only two people left in the world who I truly care about will know what really happened. I can't and don't want to avoid that, but I still wish I could know what's going through their minds as they watch. Will they think me brave or will they think me weak and that I'm taking the coward's way out?

I don't know the answer to that question, but I do know what I think. I think this is the only victory I will ever get over the people who have ruined my life, the people that, ever since my name was pulled from the reaping ball, had been guaranteed to ruin my life for its entire duration even more than they would have if I had stayed in District 5.

Let Cato and District 12 fight it out if that's what they want. I can say for certain that I want no part in it. I have had enough of needless suffering and killing. I might not be as certain about what happens to you when you die as I once was as a child, but it has to be better than this.

I, Lysandra Redwood, choose to decide my own fate, and choose to take the chance to achieve my own personal victory over the Capitol in the only way I can. Through my death, I choose freedom, and with that final thought I take my district token from my pocket, gripping it tightly in my hand as I put the berries into my mouth and begin to chew. I had always wondered what nightlock berries would taste like, trying to decide if their flavour would reflect the deadly poison contained within, but before I can answer my question I feel my body collapse to the floor as if it is no longer part of me.

My last thought as everything turns black is that I hope Cassie will forgive me.

* * *

Epilogue

It's said in the Capitol that the old arenas are haunted by their tributes, who are as unable to leave the place of their untimely ends in death as they were in life. In fact, these ridiculous people pay extortionate amounts of money to visit these arenas, which are all preserved indefinitely for the purpose, often staying the night in one of the places where a death occurred in the hope of finding themselves face to face with one of the ghosts of that year's Games, with all of their luxuries of course.

That belief is widely known across the districts too, especially as we are subjected to compulsory Capitol broadcasts which, as a break from the serious business of propaganda for the benefit of the audience watching by choice, often show some luminous-haired person desperate to achieve their fifteen minutes of fame by proving the existence of ghosts. And what better place could there possibly be to start in than a Hunger Games arena, a place which sees more horrific and unjustified murders in a few short weeks than most places will ever see up until the end of time.

I'd always thought such stories were the fantasies of idle minds, but when I find myself standing in a clearing, a recognisable one a few hundred metres from the Cornucopia this time, I rapidly start reconsidering. Maybe the Capitol stories were over-embellished to add drama, but it's the only explanation I can think of to explain why I'm still here, wearing my reaping clothes and with all of my physical hurts merely a distant memory.

So is this my eternal destiny? To rattle around this vast space, unable to move on from what happened even in death, hiding from Capitol tourists so I don't give them the satisfaction of being proven right.

I seem to know instinctively that it isn't, that in a short time I will be free to put everything that has happened behind me and move on, but then why am I here? I laugh to myself, suddenly able to do so again after what feels like so long, when I realise my curiosity has got the better of me once more. I will never be free of this arena until I know how the story ends.

Although the last time I had seen the sky it had been bright with the midday sun, it's night now, almost dawn if I am not mistaken, and I wonder how much time has passed since everything faded away. I'd only travelled through the forest at night once before, on my way to the feast that proved to be the beginning of the end, and then I had struggled, slowly taking one step at a time, forever tripping and stumbling over any number of obstacles in my path, but my stride is free and easy now. No longer do I have to watch for the threat of the other tributes or the Gamemakers. They can't harm me now, and it feels strange to still be walking around the arena but with the constant fear and hunger gone if not completely forgotten. It feels wonderful, and that feeling doesn't leave me as I approach the Cornucopia for what I hope will be the last time.

I've seen no sign of any of the other victims of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games since my ghostly return to the arena, so I'm starting to think I'm an exception to the rule and that the Capitol people are talking rubbish after all. I wouldn't be at all surprised, as everyone knows it wouldn't be the first time. However my new theory is quickly disproved when I get to the Cornucopia and see the figure perched precariously on the edge of a rock by the golden horn's entrance.

Clove is sitting there in a bright red tunic, as physically healed of all of the injuries inflicted upon her during the Games as I am, but she clearly doesn't feel the sense of freedom and release that fills my entire being. Never before have I seen one so tormented as I watch her stare into the Cornucopia, silently rocking backwards and forwards as if she's being tortured by demons I can't see.

Despite us being enemies in life, I call her name softly, but she doesn't even acknowledge my presence. I almost wish she would come over here and attack me, but she does nothing other than gaze unwaveringly into the darkness of the Cornucopia.

I approach the entrance from the other side and peer inside, curiosity getting the better of me once again now I know I have nothing to fear. The first thing I see is a huge number of what appear to be wolves, all crowded into a small space around something or someone I can't see. When I've got over my initial shock and disgust at the sight of the animals, I look closely at them for the first time and quickly work out that they are not of any species that exists naturally. Just like the tracker jackers, these wolf-like creatures must be more of the Capitol's muttations. And they look even more dangerous than the genetically-engineered wasps that I have first hand experience of. Although I already have no regrets, they convince me even more that I made the right decision. Have the audience not been 'entertained' enough?

As they continue to circle their victim, whose identity I can't make out in the darkness but, judging from Clove's presence and profound distress, can only be Cato, I notice a small red-coated wolf that looks strangely familiar. I lean forward to get a better look at it but recoil quickly when it turns to look in this direction at something behind me with eyes that match my own exactly. I've seen experiments with genetic splicing and addition before back home, but I had no idea that the science was advanced enough for the Capitol to be able to do this.

As I look around in horror at the other wolves, I soon see that there is one for each dead tribute, each sharing the same physical characteristics in colour and appearance. I know it would be virtually impossible for the scientists who created these abominations to give them any of the tributes' thoughts and memories, but it doesn't stop my imagination from running away with me. I shudder at the thought.

I step back away from the horrific scene in front of me, unable to watch any longer, unable to contemplate how anybody could find such senseless torture entertaining. Cato may not have been my favourite person in life but he doesn't deserve such an end. Nobody ever could, whatever they had done. I don't think I could even subject the Gamemakers to such unimaginable suffering. Then I shiver once more when I realise that it could have been me in Cato's place, and I'm happy once more that I had the courage to make the choice I did.

When I'm far enough away to see, I look up at the roof of the Cornucopia to see Katniss leaning down over the edge, supported by Peeta and with bow and arrow in hand. So, the Girl-on-Fire will have her victory. That will please the Capitol I think, and everyone in District 12, which will see its number of Hunger Games victors double in a matter of seconds.

I watch as Katniss lets the arrow fly and less than a minute later a cannon sounds to signal that it's all over. Feeling that I've probably seen everything before and that very few sights would shock me now, I barely bat an eyelid when a restored Cato walks out of the Cornucopia into the light. Clove doesn't see him until he calls out to her:

"Are you here to kill me all over again then?"

She looks up at him and slowly shakes her head but doesn't move, seemingly stunned by his sudden transformation. He walks over to her and holds out his hand, and I watch her accept it and allow him to pull her to her feet before I turn away and head back into the woods, deciding I've seen more than enough of the Hunger Games and that my curiosity is satisfied enough for twelve lifetimes, never mind one.

As I walk back through the trees I find I'm gradually becoming less and less sure that I will leave this place. Maybe I will have to haunt the arena forever. Forever alone with all of the terrible memories that this place holds.

Out of habit, I return to the clearing where my hollow tree had been, and as I get closer to it I can see that it is a empty shell no longer. It has somehow been restored to life, and towers high above me, its branches forming an arch that seems to shine with a light that doesn't fit in with the cloudy sky. The silence is broken by a familiar voice from my past calling my name. I walk a few paces forwards and the arena vanishes from sight.

"You made me wait a long time for you, daughter. You make me so proud."


	13. Chapter 13

I have no idea where this came from and I didn't know where else to put it so it has ended up here - I suppose that it is part of this story really (the story that I had finished writing...). As ever, I'd love to hear what you think,

Caisha

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As I approach District 5 I can see that it is grey and raining. Even though I know there is nothing different or unusual about that, it somehow feels appropriate and definitely suits my mood. I walk away from the window to the other side of the hovercraft and sit down opposite my fellow mentor, Viola. She says nothing, but that is not unusual either recently. She has barely spoken since we left the Capitol.

As I feel us begin to descend, I think about everything that has happened over the past month. It is two days since the tributes from District 12 were crowned joint victors of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, twenty-four days since a young boy from the poverty-stricken outskirts of District 5 collapsed to the floor with a knife in his back, and, perhaps the most vivid memory of all, eight days since the young girl whose courage, resourcefulness and astuteness never ceased to amaze me chose to end her life and win her freedom by taking the only way out that she could see. She was clever to the end, making sure that the Capitol would think that she ate those berries without knowing what they were and what the consequences would be, making sure that they would have no reason to punish her cousin for what were, in reality, her highly treasonous actions. Despite both her cleverness and her acting skills, I am surprised that more people haven't questioned the events of the sixteenth day of the Games. As if she would ever be stupid enough to eat the berries by accident. It is probably as well that so few people knew her well, because, such was her irrepressible intelligence, they would never have believed she would make such a mistake if they had had even one conversation with her.

So here I am, performing the same duty that I have performed virtually every year since I won the Games myself, escorting the bodies of my district's fallen tributes back to their grieving families, who already know the exact manner of their terrible and greatly premature deaths as they have been forced to watch everything that happened when it was broadcast live on television to the entire nation.

What am I supposed to say to them? I don't know. I have never known what to say, so usually I say nothing at all other than how I am so very sorry for their loss before retreating as far away from the main square as possible as quickly as I can so that I don't have to face their accusing stares. Every year the faces are different but the look is always the same, silently asking me how I managed to survive when their son or daughter did not, demanding to know why I didn't do more to help. What can I say in answer to that? The truth? I couldn't possibly. I couldn't tell them that the people of the Capitol barely provided me with enough money to send their child a bottle water when they were dying of thirst. And it was worse than ever this year. Despite Lysandra's talent for survival, which I am almost ashamed to say is so rare in one from District 5, the money just didn't come. By the time she really needed me I couldn't afford to send her anything. All of the money went to District 12 this year, and if not to them then it went to the ill-fated Careers from District 2. They were the four tributes that attracted the attention of the audience, theirs were the stories that stood out.

We are about to land in the middle of the district's main square when I remember that this year will have to be different. I will not be able to run and hide this time, for to do so would mean breaking the single promise I made to one who asked so little of me. I remember her last words to me before she was taken from the Training Centre to the arena. I think that I will remember those words until the day I die, not because she was particularly eloquent or because she said something unusually profound, but because her last thoughts before she was escorted to what she believed to be her execution were not of herself but of her cousin. She had wanted me to speak to Cassie, to try to console her and say something that would ease her grief if it all ended as she thought it would. All of the other tributes that I have ever mentored have either been in a state of silent acceptance of their fate by then, or have broken down before my eyes, begging me to save them and to make the living nightmare that is the Hunger Games go away, but Lysandra was different. Lysandra was always different. That is why I know that I have to find her cousin. I cannot let her down.

I make my way to the ladder and stand on the bottom rung so that I can be lowered down to the ground. As soon as my feet touch the muddy unpaved surface of the square I am surrounded by people, all here to get a glimpse of the wooden coffins that will shortly be arriving. In the past I have always thought that it was wrong of them to all gather in the square, that it was an intrusion on what should surely be a very private opportunity for relatives and friends to mourn such a public death, but this time my opinion is different. The people of District 5 should see the exceptionally gifted girl who refused to let the Capitol win in the only way that she could. They should honour her in death as nobody did in life, and then maybe one day the world will change enough for them to know the truth, that she defied the all-powerful, cruel and corrupt Capitol as much as, if not more than the pair from District 12. I hope that I am still alive to see the day that that happens, for that day, not the day over seventy-four years ago when the last district surrendered to the Capitol, will truly be the greatest day in the history of Panem.

I jump slightly as somebody touches my arm, thinking for a second that my mutinous thoughts had suddenly become visible for all to see, but as I turn I see that it is only Viola, pulling me gently away from the hovercraft so that it can disappear back to the Capitol once more. As soon as I have taken a few steps back, it vanishes and is replaced by a second craft, which hovers several metres above the ground, the underside doors slowly opening.

I can feel the crowd bunch together behind me as the simple wooden coffins are lowered slowly to the ground only a few metres away from where I stand. As far as the Capitol are concerned, this is the final part of the Games until the Victory Tour, which will not happen for another six months. Every year the scene is the same, the two coffins being lowered to the floor as the anthem is played, the timing worked out exactly so that the hovercraft vanishes at the same time as the last note sounds.

"The final insult," says a quiet voice, scarcely louder than a whisper, at my side.

I am shocked to hear Viola utter such rebellious words, words that I have heard once before and can recall clearly. When we had been watching the many televised replays of previous year's Hunger Games on the train on the way to the Capitol, it was Lysandra that had described the scene that I am witnessing now as such. She had taken great offence that the Capitol would effectively dump the bodies of the tributes, playing their anthem as if in celebration before disappearing without a trace or a thought for the families left behind to grieve. That it is Viola who repeats those words now shocks me, as not only has she never expressed even a mildly rebellious thought in my presence, but she also gave every impression that she disliked Lysandra intensely. I can still picture their constant exchange of glares and dirty looks and hear their sniping voices even now, so to see her standing by my side, following the slow progress of the coffins with her eyes, which appear to be full of as yet unshed tears, is entirely unexpected.

"She would be mortified if she could see this," I reply just as quietly, and Viola takes a small step towards me.

As the coffins finally reach the ground, my thoughts are interrupted by the sight of a person sprinting across the square towards me. Seconds later the person throws herself into my arms, crying and laughing quietly at the same time. I cling to her as fiercely as she clings to me, suddenly more relieved to see my intended bride than I have ever been before. I only let her go when I hear a frantic voice calling from somewhere in the crowd behind me.

"Let me through! Move out of my way! Please! "

I look at Poppy, telling her quickly that she should go back to her mother and father and that I will come to find her later but there is something that I have to do first. She does as I say and I watch her fade away into the crowd before I turn to start attempting to clear a path for the woman whose face I don't recognise but whose identity I know all too well. She doesn't even look at me as she passes, so intent is she on reaching the coffins, so I follow her, stopping a short distance away.

It takes me a couple of minutes to summon up the courage to take the remaining few steps needed to reach the nearest coffin, not the one that is surrounded by a single wailing woman and several starving looking children, but the one that is entirely devoid of mourners apart from a black-haired young woman, who kneels silently on the floor, her head bowed to hide her tears.

"Cassie? Cassiopeia?"

When she doesn't reply I turn to look at the coffin. They are always left open by the Capitol people so I am able to stare down at the tiny, serene figure of Lysandra, so perfectly preserved that she could have died minutes ago, miraculously healed of all traces of the arena prior to being sent back home. The first thing I notice is that she looks so much younger in death than she did in life. Lying there in a simple white dress, with her vivid red hair spread across the pillow, standing out against her flawless pale skin in the same way that it always did, she looks barely older than twelve or thirteen. It was her eyes that made her look even older than her real age, strange haunted-looking amber eyes that never missed a thing, eyes that are now closed forever.

After about half an hour, Cassie looks up at me for the first time, shaking her head slowly as she gets to her feet and steps back to allow the Peacekeepers to raise Lysandra from the floor and carry her across the square to the funeral pyre. I return her gaze, immediately seeing the family resemblance between the two young women despite the vast differences in their colouring. Cassie might have black hair and brown eyes but the angular features of her face are the same.

This is well past the time that I would usually walk away, but something makes me follow the procession of people, standing in silence with the rest as Cassie and Alecto's mother raise burning torches before lowering them down to light the pyres. The flames catch immediately, and soon Lysandra is surrounded by fire that burns as brightly as her hair. _She _should have been the girl-on-fire, then maybe she would be standing by my side today. I should have made her stylist do more. _I _should have done more. I should have forced myself to be strong enough to stand up to him, to silence his inane chatter and make him see that the life of his tribute is truly in his hands. But I didn't and I wasn't, so here I am watching her burn.

***

The crowd of people remain in the square for longer than they normally would, and I find myself wishing that Lysandra could see them, that she could see that even if she failed to win the support of the viewers in the Capitol, she succeeded in winning the hearts of the people of her own district. By the time the majority of them have left the sun has almost set and darkness is starting to fall. The mayor arrives to escort his wife away, and after one last look at the smoke that is still rising blackly from the pyres into the sky, Viola leaves without protest. Shortly after, Alecto's family leave as well. It is obvious to me that his mother and those of his siblings who are old enough to understand what they have witnessed are still overwhelmed by their grief, but that doesn't change the fact that the younger members of the family still need to eat, so I watch as they set off in the direction of their home, the youngest children dragging their mother away from the final resting place of her eldest.

That just leaves myself and Cassie, who hasn't moved an inch for hours, staring into the fire as it slowly burns itself out. Lysandra had been her only family and I guess that her job in the labs doesn't give her many opportunities to make friends. I keep waiting, feeling that although I am virtually a stranger to her, someone should stay so that she is not alone.

***

I am still standing next to the remains of the funeral pyre when the pale light of dawn breaks through the darkness. Not until the last flame has extinguished itself does Cassie raise her head and stretch her aching muscles.

"Thank you for staying," she says with a tired smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"She deserves that much."

"Why did she do it? She was so close. There were only three others left."

"You knew her better than I did, I'm sure you could answer that question better than I. I know that she cared for you and wouldn't have wanted you to suffer. "

"Did she not think that killing herself on national television would make me suffer?"

"Shh," I hiss, "the walls have ears, you know that."

"Sorry. But she didn't have to do it. She still might have made it."

"I was in the Games myself. I know that it won't make you feel any better to hear this, but if you haven't been there in the arena then you can never even begin to understand how desperate it can make you feel. She thought that what she did was the best option. Whether she made the right choice or not, it was still her choice alone and nobody else's."

I can see by her slight change in expression that she understood the hidden meaning behind my last sentence, and also that she shares my opinion of our dictators. We both seem to take comfort in our shared views.

"She asked me to find you and speak to you. She said to say that she loves you very much and that she wishes she could be with you now."

Cassie raises an eyebrow at me before narrowing her eyes in exactly the same way her cousin did when she knew she was being lied to.

"What did she really say?"

"To think of something good and tell you that she said it," I reply honestly. When she responds it is the first time that I have heard her laugh.

"That sounds more like Lysa."

"I called her Lysa once," I say with a smile of my own. "I only ever made the mistake once."

"It was her Papa that called her Lysa. After he…died…anyone who called her that regretted it. She only let me shorten her name when they returned her to the labs." After a short pause she continues, "She hated it here."

"She said once that she wanted you to get out of Laboratory Seven. She said that you deserve better, that you are clever enough to really achieve something."

"How can I? The Capitol control everything we do here. Lysa knew that as well as I did."

"That's what I said to her."

"And what did she say?"

"That if her mother can do it then so can you. I had no idea what she meant and she wouldn't tell me."

"Her mother was Mercia Whitehouse. You know, the woman from District 5 who invented the best-selling youth potion in the Capitol and has lived a life of luxury without fear ever since."

I recognise the name instantly but at the same time I remember Lysandra's interview. She had said with great conviction that both of her parents were dead. Cassie seems to read my mind.

"Mercia abandoned her when my uncle died. Lysa never forgave her, never spoke of her. It was less painful for her to say that her mother was dead."

I nod, once more learning something that leaves me even more shocked at the extent of Lysandra's courage and strength of mind. I hope that Mercia Whitehouse is out there somewhere, watching from her luxurious house, regretting the day that she abandoned her brave and exceptional child.

It is time that I left now. Poppy will be thinking that I have forgotten about her, something that I have become more convinced than ever over the past few weeks that I will never do. Once more Cassie seems to follow the pattern of my thoughts and nods to me, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Goodbye Marcus."

"Goodbye Cassiopeia."

"It's just Cassie," she says.

"I know, Lysandra told me."

I turn and walk slowly away, getting halfway across the square before I suddenly remember something. I immediately chase after Cassie, reaching her just as she opens the door of Laboratory Seven.

"Cassie! Cassie, wait! Lysandra told me to tell you to look under the loose floorboard below her bed. She didn't say why," I gasp, struggling for breath. She smiles briefly, inclines her head once more and passes through the doorway without speaking.

***

Four years later

It was exactly a year ago today that I heard the televised announcement made by Octavian, one of the two Capitol representatives based in District 5. The hugely fat and garishly coloured man had stood at the podium on the stage in the Capitol's City Circle to tell the vast crowd gathered there that the development of a new scientific process has been completed, that developments in genetic engineering discovered in the labs of his very own District 5 now make it possible for alterations to be made to a person's genes, therefore enabling their appearance to be changed without any need for invasive surgery.

The new process was, of course, an overnight success, and as Octavian claimed all of the credit for himself, it made him one of the wealthiest men in Panem. I don't pretend to understand much about science or about the way the labs are run, but I do know that a man like Octavian would never have the brains to come up with something like that in the first place, never mind to go on to develop the technique enough to make it safe and successful. Therefore it was no great surprise to me that first Laboratory Seven, and then a couple of months later the jewel in District 5's crown, Laboratory One, found itself with a new governor.

It is that same governor who I am on my way to visit now, walking up the luxuriously carpeted steps with my infant daughter in my arms. I knock on the door tentatively, despite the fact that as a Hunger Games victor, I have sufficient status within the district to make fear unnecessary.

"Come in!"

I walk in to stand on the other side of the huge mahogany desk, facing the occupant of the office.

"Hello Cassie. It's been a long time."

"Hello Marcus."

"You have done very well for yourself these past few years." I say, and her face confirms what I have suspected all along, that she has been behind all of the recent scientific developments that have made our esteemed Capitol representative so very rich.

"I couldn't have done it alone."

"What do you mean?"

"You chased after me four years ago to say that Lysa asked you to tell me to look under the floorboard in her room." She continues when I nod in response. "She had been working on my project for months. I could not have done half of what I have done without her."

I smile, remembering the one tribute girl I have mentored that I've never really forgotten. My little girl wakes suddenly and raises her head, her wild mop of dark brown hair in complete disarray as usual.

"Is she your daughter? It was rumoured in the labs that you and your wife couldn't have children."

"We didn't think we could. But, yes, she is ours," I answer, unable to keep the pride from my voice. "I called her Lysandra."

I am surprised to see tears well up in the eyes of the woman who is now known to all as the formidable and often terrifying governor of Laboratory One, and we sit in silence for several minutes until she regains control of her emotions for long enough to ask me the question which was the reason for my summons to her office.

"What happened in the Capitol? Why could you not help them? For too many years I have watched as two coffins are lowered into the square out of one of those vile hovercrafts. There must be something we can do."


End file.
